


Broken Love in the First Degree

by tigerlily_sunshine



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M, Multi, OT4, Self-Denial, Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 29,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6672904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigerlily_sunshine/pseuds/tigerlily_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not me, Cal.”</p><p>The bottom drops out of Calum’s world at the tone of Michael’s voice. It is so… empty that it takes Calum a moment to understand what he has said and then another to process it. Calum blinks, his mind still sluggish from sleep. He mouths Michael’s words in the vain hope he might catch on to what Michael actually means.  </p><p>Calum takes too long. Michael sighs. He hits pause on his game and finally—<i>finally</i>—gives Calum the attention he deserves. His eyes are sad. His bottom lip is a little wobbly. Calum is afraid Michael might cry, but Michael can’t cry. Not on Calum’s birthday.</p><p>“Look at your wrist.”</p><p>(In which Calum is Michael's soulmate, but Michael isn't Calum's.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from 5SOS's "Catch Fire."

On Michael’s twenty-first birthday, he wakes up to the name _Calum_ scrawled along his forearm. It is brand new but settled into his skin like it has always been there. He screams, delighted and sits up straight in his bed, more sleep be damned. Calum comes running to him in the next second, appearing in the doorway out of breath.

“What the hell, Mike? I thought you were being murdered.”

Michael grins at him. He proudly thrusts out his arm. This is the greatest day of his entire life. Calum is his best friend—his occasional fuck buddy—and Michael is going to spend the rest of forever with him.

“Shit. Are you—is that my—”

“Name? Yes. You’re stuck with me.”

It is Calum’s turn to grin. The grin itself is big and excited. Michael would almost feel guilty about spoiling the surprise Calum should be entitled to in a couple of months when he turns twenty-one, too, but Michael doesn’t. He can’t bring himself to feel such guilt, because his best friend is his soulmate, and Michael will be damned if he is going to let a petty two months get in the way of that.

By the way Calum takes a running leap for the bed, crashing into Michael like waves against a rocky coastline, Michael doesn’t think he minds. Calum’s hand immediately goes for Michael’s arm. His fingers trace his name, and Michael shivers. It is intimate. Goosebumps rise on Michael’s skin. His heart beats like crazy in his chest, and he wants to kiss Calum silly.

Calum must have the same idea. He traces over the letter ‘m’ one last time before looking back up at Michael’s meeting his eyes. His own are shining with desire like Michael has only ever before been allowed to see in the cover of night, drunk and hiding behind the alcohol to justify sleeping with his best friend.

Calum surges forward, and his lips crash against Michael’s, and Michael kisses back just as furiously. Somewhere in the back of his mind—in the tiny corner that isn’t overwhelmed by Calum—Michael thinks they’ll never have to rely on excuses anymore. He is glad of it. Relieved, even.

 

Calum wakes up on his twenty-first birthday, totally content and not at all afraid of the soulmark that has appeared somewhere on his body. He is one of the lucky ones. He cheated the system. He has known who his soulmate is for two months, so there is nothing frightening about the brand new mark on his skin.

It is all rather disturbing, therefore, when he wakes up all alone in bed and has to walk naked all the way to the living room where Michael is lounging across the couch, a controller in his hands and a comforter wrapped around him. Calum scrunches up his nose at the sight. He doesn’t understand why Michael is in here when Calum was perfectly naked in their bed. It is Calum’s birthday. He deserves to have woken up to some great birthday sex.

“You were gone.”

It comes out accusatory and a touch petulant, but Calum doesn’t care. It is too cold to be naked. He had woken up alone, and he has every right to be bitter about the missed opportunity to have Michael suck him off before breakfast. It is his birthday, dammit.

Michael barely spares him a glance before returning his attention to his video game as if it is a thousand times more important than Calum. That is preposterous. Calum almost stomps his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. He is totally more important than some video game that Michael has played so many times that he has practically memorized by now.

“ _Mikeeey_ ,” whines Calum. He is definitely not above throwing a fit. This isn’t at all how he imagined he would been spending his twenty-first birthday. “It’s my—”

“It’s not me, Cal.”

The bottom drops out of Calum’s world at the tone of Michael’s voice. It is so… empty that it takes Calum a moment to understand what he has said and then another to process it. Calum blinks, his mind still sluggish from sleep. He mouths Michael’s words in the vain hope he might catch on to what Michael actually means. 

Calum takes too long. Michael sighs. He hits pause on his game and finally— _finally_ —gives Calum the attention he deserves. His eyes are sad. His bottom lip is a little wobbly. Calum is afraid Michael might cry, but Michael can’t cry. Not on Calum’s birthday.

“Look at your wrist.”

Calum obeys without thought, always easy for Michael. He looks down at his left wrist, and the entire world stops turning. Horror crashes over him. He knees feel weak, and he thinks he might have fallen to them on the scratchy carpet of their living room. He thinks he might hear a faint _“Calum!”_ from Michael, but he is not sure on either account. He can’t really process anything beyond the bold lettering on his wrist—beyond the soulmark that most certainly does not read Michael’s name but rather the strange, unwelcome, four-lettered _Luke_. 

Calum thinks he might vomit. His chest feels tight, and his lungs don’t seem to be working right. This must be what the end of world feels like—this helpless ball of awfulness rolling around in Calum’s stomach. This isn’t right. He is supposed to be Michael’s soulmate. His name is right there on Michael’s arm. There has to be some sort of mistake. Maybe the letters haven’t quite settled yet.

“Hey! Hey! Stop that!” commands Michael.

He appears right there in front of Calum, crouched down at eye-level with him. His profile is a little distorted by the tears clouding Calum’s vision. Michael grabs Calum’s hand and pulls it away from his wrist—Calum hadn’t even been aware he had started scratching himself—but the damage has already been done. There are angry scratches across the forbidden name on his wrist. Bleeding red against stark black. Calum stares down at the ugly name and watches as the skin of his soulmark starts to heal back together.

He hates it.

He wants it gone.

But it isn’t going anywhere.

When he looks back up at Michael, he finds Michael is already looking at him with sad eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, Calum can see his own name stark and beautiful etched into the skin of Michael’s arm. He kind of wants to cry again. Michael looks like he wants to, too.

He is Michael’s soulmate, and Michael is supposed to be his.

The universe is cruel in this twisted joke. Calum feels vulnerable. Raw. He is distinctly aware that he is still naked, but it is a different type of vulnerability that is settling into his bones. Michael is Calum’s entire world, but Michael isn’t his soulmate.

“I love you,” he tells Michael, because the name on his wrist suggests otherwise. “I don’t give a fuck what my damn wrist says. I love you, Michael Clifford, and I’m your soulmate, and you’re mine, too. D’you hear me? You’re my soulmate.”

Michael smiles sadly at Calum, his gaze flashing briefly to Calum’s wrist where the _Luke_ there disproves Calum’s vow. For a moment, Calum thinks Michael is going to call him on it—that Michael is going to point out that Calum can’t just _choose_ who he is going to end up with when it is all said and done—but he doesn’t. Perhaps he wishes Calum’s words were true as much as Calum himself does.  

“Yeah. Okay. We’re soulmates,” agrees Michael.

He pulls Calum in for a hug like he can’t bear not to hold him, and it feels so _right_ that Calum feels like screaming. Calum turns his hand over so that he doesn’t have to look at the awful name on his wrist that isn’t Michael’s. He buries his face in the crook of Michael’s neck and wishes he would have never turned twenty-one.

 

Calum wears a thick black bracelet over his wrist. He can’t stand the sight of _Luke_ , and he doesn’t like the downward turn of the corners of Michael’s lips whenever Michael spies the name. He never takes off the bracelet, even going as far to shower with it on, because he is that disgusted with what is underneath it. He sleeps next to Michael every night, still, and they have sex like they always have, and Calum traces his name on Michael’s skin whenever he gets the chance. He becomes even more convinced by the passing day that the universe fucked up—that it should be Michael’s name on his wrist, because he is one hundred percent certain that only his soulmate can make him feel so much _love_ that it almost _hurts_.

Life goes on.

 

Calum meets Ashton by accident. It is a rainy Tuesday in early July. He is soaked to the bone, having forgotten his umbrella back at the practice field. The downpour catches him by total surprise—though it shouldn’t, given the fact that it has rained every day for the past month—and he is too far away from work to justify turning around to get it. He ducks into a coffee shop for shelter instead, intent to wait out the rain and maybe call Michael to come pick him up.

He runs his hand through his wet hair. It is a lost cause, water dripping  onto his shoulders in large drops. He wipes his shoes off on the welcome mat, but they still squeak as he walks up to the counter. In any other situation, he might feel guilty about the trail of water he is leaving behind him, but most of the other customers are in similar states of wetness.

“One large black coffee, please,” he orders.

He may as well enjoy a drink while the relentless rain pounds outside. He is not only physically exhausted from the grueling six-hour practice but also mentally exhausted from the wear and tear of the day. He would love nothing more than to go back to the tiny two-bedroom apartment he calls home and curl up next to Michael and just sleep. He can’t, not now at least. He is stuck in the middle of a downpour at a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop three streets down from the practice field. He glances at the window next to him. There is no going out in that anytime soon.

“That’ll be one-oh-eight,” says the barista.

Calum reaches his hand into his pocket, but he only brings out a ball of lint and an old gum wrapper he swears was Michael’s. He tries his other pocket and comes out no better. He freezes, staring in horror at the barista’s expectant face.

_Fuck._

He must have left his wallet at the apartment this morning. He hardly ever takes it to practice with him. He doesn’t  need it, usually. He keeps a tiny amount of paper money in his sports’ bag, enough to cover lunch or a sports drink from the vending machine, and that is it. Usually, he catches a ride into the field with one of his teammates, so there is not even a need for him to even carry his driver’s license.

He is so screwed. His hopes for a nice warm cup of coffee to wait out the rain dissipates right before his very eyes. He opens his mouth to take back his order and apologize and maybe explain that he is not usually this brainless. But he is saved at the last possible second by what must be a real life angel in a mortal human body.

“Gimme whatever he got, and I’ll pay for us both.”

Calum half-turns toward the stranger, intent on thanking the man. The stranger’s looks match his handsome voice. He has a head full of blond curls and a dimpled smile and bright, hazel-colored eyes. Calum’s breath catches in his throat. He has never met a more handsome man—except for Michael, of course, but there is nobody in the world prettier than Michael. Or so Calum has always thought. But this man right here, this stranger, he might almost give Michael a run for his money.

“’M Ashton,” says the stranger, speaking to Calum as he digs into his pocket for his wallet. He takes it out. It is brown leather, nice and soft and worn with careful use. The man’s nails are blunt, and his fingers are long. He counts out enough bills to cover the coffees plus a tip for the barista. He hands it over.

Calum watches in fascination, held captive by the man’s movements. It is like he is in a trance. Calum has only ever experienced this trance-like state in regard to Michael, who has the ability to commandeer Calum’s attention whenever he is within eyesight. Calum is quite naturally intrigued that this total stranger is having the same effect on him.

“I’m Calum,” he answers, because that is the social norm, and Ashton is looking at him expectantly. He figures he should at least be cordial to the man nice enough to buy his coffee. “This is so embarrassing—I left my wallet at home, apparently—and so… well, thank you.”

Calum inwardly groans. He can feel his face heat up. He never trips over his own words like this, not unless it is with Michael, and even then, he has gotten pretty good at articulating himself over the years that they have known each other. Hell, Calum has known Michael since way before puberty, so he has all types of embarrassing stories over on Michael to balance out any self-induced humiliation he might garner. With this stranger, though, Calum is already falling flat on his face, and he has nothing to prop himself up with.

“It’s no problem,” says Ashton, chuckling nicely at Calum’s flushing cheeks. “What d’you say we keep each other company? There’s no going out in the torrential downpour for a few minutes at the very least.”

 It sounds like as good of an idea as any to Calum, who is always up for a friendly face and a nice conversation to pass the time. Ashton seems cordial enough—he bought Calum coffee, for one, and he reminds Calum of Michael, and Calum likes anything that reminds him of Michael—so Calum agrees easily enough. They get their coffees a couple of moments later. They take their steaming cups to a table in the back. Calum notes Ashton drinks his straight, like a normal person would do. He likes that about  people, even if he himself is guilty of buying Michael the sweet, cookie-flavored creamer that is currently setting in their refrigerator back home.

“So, Calum, what has you caught out in the rain?” asks Ashton, a grin of his face. His voice reminds Calum of honey, and Calum likes the way his own name rolls off Ashton’s tongue like it is supposed to be there.

“Left my umbrella at the practice field like a total mindless idiot,” says Calum, laughing self-depreciatively. He is always forgetting things. Michael bemoans it all of the time, because Calum always manages to make his life harder than it has to be. “Was too tired of getting soaked to head on home, so I thought I’d stop in here ‘til it stopped raining.”

“Wise choice,” says Ashton. “Choosing to stop in here, that is—not forgetting your umbrella.”

Calum laughs. He relaxes a little now that he isn’t the only one tripping over his words like a schoolboy experiencing his first crush. Conversation flows easy with Ashton in all of the ways that it normally never does with strangers. Calum feels like he has known Ashton forever instead of just a few minutes. That is almost scary in and of itself. Sure, Calum likes new faces and mindless chatter with strangers, but this feels so much more intimate than any conversation that he has ever had with someone he has just met.

“So that’s my story. What’s yours?”

Ashton takes another drink of his coffee. Calum watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows it, and when he finally realizes what he is doing—how creepy it is to stare so intently at a total stranger—he forces himself to meet Ashton’s eyes. He feels his cheeks go hot. He hopes the lighting in here is dark enough to hide his blush. He is thankful that he isn’t as ghostly pale as Michael, who can light up an entire room when the red rushes to his cheeks.

“Lost a bet to my roommate for what is apparently the only umbrella in the apartment,” says Ashton, grinning. He doesn’t sound too heartbroken about his loss, and Calum finds himself wondering why that is. “I really thought I’d get home before the rain hit, but I didn’t—as you can see, I suppose.”

“How do you only have one umbrella in your apartment?” asks Calum.

He is sure he and Michael have at least four between the two of them. Or maybe five, because Calum isn’t certain that his first court included the brand new black-and-white constellation one that Michael insisted they _had to have_ the other day when they were at the mall. The point is, though, that neither he nor Michael are really on top of having the necessities in life—such as a steady stock of laundry detergent, apparently—so he can’t imagine a scenario where they would be better prepared for something as meager as rain.

“Because my roommate is a little shit who steals all of my clothes and enjoys making my life hell,” says Ashton. The grin doesn’t leave his face—Calum wonders if it ever does—and his voice is so fond that his words barely pack a punch. “Nah. I’m being too cynical. It’s true, though, that he does steal all of my clothes, because apparently mine feel so much better than his own. If you ask me, he’s too lazy to do his own laundry most days. But anyway, I’m pretty sure we used to have another one, but I may have possibly left it at a music festival last month? So, yeah, maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with our only remaining umbrella.”

Calum laughs, and Ashton looks proud of himself that he elicited such a response from him. Calum has never, ever met somebody like Ashton. He hasn’t ever meshed so well with another person, either—except Michael, but Michael doesn’t really count. They’re soulmates. Soulmates are supposed to go well together.

“You’re not talking about the music festival held down by the river, are you?” asks Calum. “Because I will totally judge you if you say you were there _in the rain_. It was total shit. No good bands played, and the cover charge was ridiculous!”

 “Would you cut me some slack if I say it was my job?” asks Ashton.

Calum raises his eyebrows, impressed. He takes a sip of his coffee. It is still hot enough that steam is curling up in the air above it, so he makes sure to blow across it first. He motions with his hand for Ashton to elaborate, because this is a story he has to hear.

“OK, so I work down at the radio station, right? I don’t really do any on-air stuff just yet, but they send me to all of these concerts and these festivals to review them,” explains Ashton, eagerly like he is proud of what he gets paid to do. Calum doesn’t blame him. That sounds like a pretty sweet setup. “Well, they sent me to that festival last month, of course, and between you and me, you’re right: it was horrendous. An absolute disgrace to all music festivals everywhere! The headlining band didn’t even show up! It was so bad, and it was rainy, so I was miserable the entire time, and I still had to sound at least semi-enthusiastic about the pros of the thing—even though there were literally none.”

“And you left your umbrella at the gig, so you got your ass soaked today,” adds Calum, laughing.

Ashton makes a face, scrunching up his nose. He looks so endearing that Calum’s heart skips a beat in his chest. Calum rushes to take a gulp of his coffee so that maybe he will do something else other than just stare heart-eyed at Ashton, a total stranger who seems like so much more than that. The coffee burns all the way down. Calum thinks he deserves the pain. It is punishment for having thoughts about somebody who isn’t his soulmate—about having thoughts about somebody who isn’t Michael.

“At least I’m in good company,” says Ashton, his lips breaking into a smile. “The rain couldn’t have come on a better day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” says Calum, grinning. He raises his cup like a toast in the cheesy way he and Michael always do, and he forgets that normal people don’t find such dorky mannerisms funny. Or even, well, appropriate. He freezes, his hand held in midair. He must look like an idiot.

But Ashton laughs, not at Calum but at the joke, and he raises his coffee cup to meet Calum’s. The liquids inside of both of them slosh dangerously but don’t spill. Calum stares in amazement at this perfect specimen of a human being before him, and he thinks _Ashton is a keeper_.

Calum’s phone dings in his pocket with a message then. It is from Michael, Calum knows by the sound his phone made alone. The grin drops from Calum’s face almost immediately as guilt settles in. He shouldn’t be having such thoughts about Ashton, a total stranger—thoughts that amount to Calum wanting to take Ashton by the hand and never, ever let him go— _when Michael is his soulmate_. Calum feels like a horrible human being.

The soulmark on his wrist, hidden away by the bulky, black bracelet he always wears feels like hot coals infused in his skin. He makes it a habit to forget that the stupid thing is even there. He doesn’t need a name on his wrist to tell him exactly who he belongs with. To tell him that he and Michael are perfect for each other. That they are meant for each other. He only ever trips up and remembers there is an ugly four-lettered name that isn’t Michael’s on his wrist whenever he has gone and done something so _mean_ to Michael, like flirt with total strangers.

Calum scratches absent-mindedly at the soulmark, digging his fingernails underneath the bracelet to reach the skin. He forgets Ashton is there as he opens up the message that Michael has sent. It is a picture of the window in their bedroom back home, and it shows the same rain shower that has Calum stranded in a random coffee shop half of a city away. Michael captions it _come home. wanna cuddle_. Michael has added a frowning face and also, because he can never resist, a senseless eggplant emoji, too. It brings a smile to Calum’s face. Michael always makes him smile.

“Hey! Hey! Stop that!” says Ashton, loud and brash, as he reaches across the table to slap Calum’s hand away from his wrist. He misses Calum completely, but his quick movements catch Calum by surprise and make him stop anyway. “You’re bleeding.”

Sure enough, when Calum looks down at his wrist, there are tiny rivets of blood twisting down his skin toward the ground. Calum doesn’t even feel the sting of the scrapes. He knows, were he to pull back the bracelet right now and look, that his skin is already patching itself back together to keep the ugly four-lettered name whole and untarnished. Calum hates himself.

He looks up at Ashton, expecting to see the same kind of hatred shining as revulsion in Ashton’s eyes. He doesn’t. Ashton only looks sad, like Michael does whenever he catches Calum clawing at the universe’s curse in the vain hope that the name _Luke_ can be so easily scrubbed away. There is concern in Ashton’s eyes, too, and Calum feels shame well up in him. Ashton reminds Calum so, so much of Michael that it hurts right now to think about how the worry etched into the lines of Ashton’s face is the exact same worry Calum has seen dozens of times on Michael’s face ever since Calum woke up one morning with a name other than Michael’s name on his wrist.

“You might want to check that,” says Ashton. “It might need bandaging.”

Calum shakes his head. It never has before. It won’t now, either. It has stopped bleeding, though. Calum wipes away his blood with the napkins on the table. He doesn’t bother moving the bracelet to clean under it. He’ll do it later when is alone in the shower and not now while Ashton is staring at him with wide eyes.

“Soulmark,” says Calum as a clip-noted explanation. He’ll say anything to make Ashton stop looking at him like he is about to lunge for the nearest butter knife and plunge it into his own heart. “The universe is getting a right kick out of me.”

Ashton’s eyes dart down to the bulky, black bracelet then back up to meet Calum’s again. He doesn’t look nearly as turned off by Calum’s statement as people usually are. Calum’s teammates give him hell for covering up his mark, and the media does, too, and Calum is so, so tired of people buying into the damn notion that a fucking name on his body dictates who he should love. He loves Michael, name or no name.

But Ashton doesn’t jump to the age-old _you’ll stop fighting the system eventually_ argument. He doesn’t even lobby the _don’t you feel guilty that you’re robbing your real soulmate of ever loving you? Or of Michael’s soulmate ever loving him?_ stance that some people take when they unknowingly, yet correctly, guess the real reason Calum doesn’t show the world his mark. Ashton only smiles sadly at Calum, like he knows all too well the struggle of swimming against the soulmate current.

“I’ve been in love with my best friend for ages—ever since we met, probably. I just knew _he_ was the one, you know? But I turned twenty-one, and, well, as it turns out, he isn’t the one,” says Ashton, his voice soft and quiet. His words are unpracticed, like he doesn’t talk about this very much, if ever. “It’s weird now, has been for a while. We live together, and he knows I don’t have his name, and he’s going to turn twenty-one _tomorrow_ , and that’s just the first step. I’m going to know the name of the person lucky enough to have their name on his skin, and I’m going to hate them forever for that, but I’m going to love them, too, because they’re going to make him happy. They’re going to make him so fucking happy like I’ll never be able to.”

Calum winces. His chest is in knots, and he finds it hard to breathe. He finds it hard to do anything other than stare at Ashton and feel heartbroken on his behalf. He thinks of Michael, of how this must be exactly how Michael feels every single day of his life knowing that Calum is _it_ for him but he isn’t _it_ for Calum. He thinks of how fucked up the universe is if it can dangle such cruelty before both Michael and Ashton, who are the two kindest souls Calum has ever known.

Calum reaches across the table. He takes Ashton’s hand in his, and he notes how much larger Ashton’s hand is. He likes how it feels, their skins pressed palm-to-palm. A wave of calmness washes over Calum. It reminds him of Michael, and he holds on even tighter. It gives him the strength to finally admit the truth out loud for the first time in six months.

“My boyfriend has my name on his arm, but I don’t have his.”

Ashton grunts out a sigh, frowning. He tightens his grip on Calum’s hand like he wishes he could take all of Calum’s pain and make it go away forever. He looks ever-so-sorry for Calum, like everyone always does whenever they put the pieces together and realize that Calum’s perfect life isn’t so perfect. But it is different. He isn’t pitying Calum. He is sympathizing with Calum.

“Does he know?”

Calum nods. “He woke up first that morning.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“More than anything else in the world.”

Ashton glances down at the bulky, black bracelet again. He draws circles on the back of Calum’s hand with his large thumb. He scratches at his own collarbone with his free hand, and Calum thinks he spies the beginning of Ashton’s soulmark—a solid black _M_ —when Ashton’s shirt crinkles in the fraction of a second before Ashton smoothes down his shirt once more. It is a long moment before Ashton speaks again.

“Then fuck the soulmate system.”

 

Calum feels a little more validated by his decision to choose to love Michael in the wake of Ashton’s advice. It is nice meeting somebody who understands his problems and doesn’t immediately shut him down because he is choosing his own destiny. He likes that about Ashton.

Mainly, though, he just likes Ashton in general. He likes how easy it is to talk to Ashton. How much Ashton can make him laugh. How Ashton seems to be genuinely interested in what Calum has to say. They go from total strangers to the best of friends from practically one sit-down. When the rain finally clears, Calum leaves the coffee shop with a brand new number stored in his phone and hopes of cuddling with Michael when he gets home.

 

Friday nights are reserved for date nights. Used to, back before Calum’s name showed up on Michael’s forearm, Friday nights were movie nights where they split a bottle of Jack that inevitably led to them making out on the couch before they stumbled to the nearest bedroom for a nice tumble in the sheets. They were Calum’s favorite night of the week.

They still are to this day, though they go out now, the pair of them. It is nice not having to hide behind self-told lies and being able, instead, to love each other freely. They dress up nice, and they sometimes go to a good restaurant or they might catch a film or they maybe go to a karaoke bar. It is different every week, each taking turns surprising the other, and Calum loves it. He lives for it. Michael makes sure to wear short sleeves so that he can show off Calum’s name, so proud of it that he has to show it to the world all of the time. Calum likes that Michael is proud, and he makes sure his bulky black bracelet covers up the awful four-lettered name on his own skin that most unfortunately isn’t Michael’s. When strangers ask where Calum’s mark is, Calum lies and says it is on his thigh.

It is nobody’s business, really, because Michael is Calum’s soulmate, mark or no mark.

This week, it is Calum’s turn to pick. There is a nice café down from the training field that has an open mic on Friday nights, and, according to a couple of Calum’s teammates, the lineup is always pretty good. Michael likes music, and so does Calum. It is the perfect idea, the best surprise Calum can come up with. Maybe he can even convince Michael to get up on stage with a borrowed guitar and melt everybody’s hearts in that damn place by his beautiful voice. He can only hope.

Calum is ready to leave first, which doesn’t necessarily indicate anything except the fact that he has been home an entire hour longer than Michael. He isn’t in any hurry. He would wait for the world to end if Michael needed him to. But Michael will not need that long. Truthfully, Michael shouldn’t take more than another ten or so minutes, as he takes the quickest solo showers of anybody Calum has ever met, in and out in under four minutes flat if he needs to be.

There is a big game on tonight. It is one that Calum would like to watch, but he knows that sports aren’t Michael’s thing. He doesn’t mind to miss it—nothing has ever been or will ever be more important than Michael. Besides, Calum can always catch the highlights of the game tomorrow or something. For now, he has a few minutes to kill before Michael is ready to leave, so he indulges himself in the opening half of the game.

It doesn’t seem to be his luck to watch the game, after all. As soon as he gets settled in, comfortable on the couch with the television at a decent volume, his phone rings. He thinks it is odd that somebody is calling on Friday night. He is pretty sure his teammates are shacked up in front of their own television sets giving their all to this game. The only other people who Calum speaks with on a regular basis are his parents and his sister, and they all know that Friday nights are Michael’s nights.

Still, though, Calum doesn’t mind to answer the call, not since his night with Michael hasn’t technically started just yet. He drops the remote to the couch cushion next to him and digs into his pocket to retrieve his phone. It continues to ring like crazy. He doesn’t bother to look at the name of the caller before he answers it.

“Please, don’t say no,” is the greeting that comes over the line.

There is a lot of noise in the background on the other side of the line, but that doesn’t stop Calum from identifying the out-breath-voice as belonging to Ashton. Vaguely, Calum wonders how he knows with absolute certainty who the caller is, as he has only spoken to Ashton one time a few days ago. He supposes it is impossible to forget Ashton’s honey-saturated voice, especially since Calum thinks it might be his second favorite voice in the entire world—second to Michael’s, of course. Calum doesn’t even want to consider why he thinks so fondly of Ashton. Maybe it is because of how easily he and Ashton fell into companionship in the coffee shop in the middle of the rainstorm.

“Ashton?” asks Calum, though he knows exactly who it is. He responds in such a manner for lack of an idea of how else to do so. Most people answer the phone with a simple _hello_. It is endearing, though odd, that Ashton hasn’t.

“Yeah, listen, I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if you’d like to catch a concert tonight?”

Calum hesitates. He glances over his shoulder toward his closed bedroom door, where, beyond that, Michael is getting ready for their night out. He catches himself almost immediately. Michael is his soulmate. Friday nights are their nights together, and Calum has picked the best surprise ever for Michael tonight. He can’t wait to see the way Michael’s eyes light up at the sight of the cozy café with an open mic.

“It’s date night, man.”

“Right—I can get a third ticket?” suggests Ashton, doggedly. He sounds even more desperate than he had before. The background noise lessens, though, as if he has purposefully moved to a quieter area. “It’s just that normally my roommate comes with me to these things, but he has a gig downtown, and I don’t—I mean, concerts aren’t any fun on your own, are they?”

“Uh, no?” guesses Calum, because he has never actually been to a concert without Michael before, so he wouldn’t actually know what it is like to go alone.

He supposes it is the answer Ashton is looking for. Or maybe Ashton wasn’t looking for a response at all. He doesn’t stop rambling. His words start to slur together in his haste, like a waterfall of honey spilling over the edge of spoon. It is adorable, Calum thinks, to hear Ashton so worked up.

“Technically, I’m working, so you’ll hardly see me. Sort of. I mean, I can be as absent as you need, so that I won’t, like, kill the vibe of your date, but I really don’t like having to go these things alone, especially when I have to interview the band afterwards. I just get so worked up on my own, you know? I’m a mess. Really. I shouldn’t be trusted on my own.”

“Are you already there now?” asks Calum. “Because you sound like a mess already.”

Ashton laughs. It comes out a little strained. It is enough of a confirmation for Calum, and Calum wishes he knew how to comfort Ashton. He wishes he knew how to soothe Ashton’s nerves, because Ashton really, really sounds like he needs somebody for support right now.

“I may be hiding backstage at the moment,” admits Ashton. He groans low in his throat. “This is why I don’t go to these things alone! I mean, I even know the band, and I’m just falling apart all by myself.”

“You’re doing fine, Ash,” Calum assures him, though, personally, he doesn’t believe his own words. He is afraid that Ashton might duck out some unused door and make a run for it and jeopardize his career in the process. He hopes that he doesn’t sound so doubtful across the line, though. “What concert are you at, anyway?”

“All Time Low. It’s at the center on Second.”

Ashton doesn’t know it, but he has just said the magic words. Calum grins to himself, deciding the café surprise can wait for a couple of weeks. He can both have his date night and make sure Ashton doesn’t spontaneously combust on his own at the concert.

“Why didn’t you lead with that?” asks Calum. “All Time Low is seriously one of my boyfriend’s favorite bands ever.”

“So you’ll do it? You’ll come save my ass?” asks Ashton. He sounds hopeful for the first time since the phone call began, animated like he can’t believe his luck. “I can even get you both passes for backstage.”

“We’ll be happy enough with the concert,” says Calum, though he can’t imagine how excited Michael would be if he did indeed get to meet his music idols. Probably almost as excited as the time Calum surprised Michael with a week-long trip to Japan that Calum had spent ages saving up ages for.

“Oh, no, no. You’re my life-saver, and I’m making sure it’ll be worth your while,” insists Ashton.

The next words tumble unfiltered from Calum’s mouth, “It’ll already be worthwhile just seeing you again.”

Calum freezes, his words hanging heavy across the line between them. Once he realizes what he has said, he opens his mouth to retract them or maybe to come across as a little less of an obsessed new friend. But he can’t bring himself to take them back. He means them too much. It would be like telling Michael _I love you_ and then immediately insisting that he doesn’t. Calum could never, ever in a thousand years do that. He can’t take these words to Ashton back, either.

“I’m glad you think so, Cal, because I’m looking forward to seeing you again, too,” says Ashton, quietly. Calum has never heard anybody sound so sincere in his entire life, and it makes his heart skip a beat. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t eager to meet this boyfriend of yours. He’s got to be something special to capture a heart like yours.”

Calum smiles to himself. At that moment, he hears the door to his bedroom open, and he turns around on instinct to see Michael strolling out, all dressed up in his skin-tight black jeans and Calum’s favorite button-up flannel shirt. The sight steals the breath from Calum’s lungs, as Michael is often prone to do, and he can’t wait to see Michael’s face when he surprises Michael with the concert tickets.

“Yeah,” he says, distantly, to Ashton. He can’t look away from Michael, who is smiling curiously back at him. “He’s pretty damn special.”

 

Calum is tight-lipped about their plans, much to Michael’s distaste. It is nothing new. Michael is always eager to know exactly what to expect, to know exactly what Calum has planned for him, so he doesn’t like it whenever Calum withholds certain information. This time is nothing different. Michael scowls the entire car ride across the city, but he holds Calum’s hand the entire time, so Calum knows he isn’t actually mad.

“You’re kidding me,” is Michael’s flabbergasted statement the moment he latches onto Calum’s date night surprise. It is about time he has caught on, really, since they’re currently walking along the sidewalk toward the center on Second Street. They have been following a group of half of dozen eager fans  wearing various All Time Low t-shirts for the past two blocks. “Calum, tell me you didn’t get tickets for the All Time Low concert.”

Calum grins over at him. Michael’s eyes are bright and glinting with hope, and that is exactly what Calum was expecting. What he was eager to see. However, Michael is also chewing on his bottom lip like he wants so badly for his guess to be right but is terrified that he is wrong. Calum wants to kiss the doubt right off Michael’s face. He settles for a quick peck on the cheek, instead, so that they don’t stop to make out and subsequently cause a pedestrian pile up. It has happened once or twice. Or maybe somewhere nearer to fifteen times over the past half of a year alone. Calum always likes kissing Michael—would make a living off kissing Michael if he could—and Michael likes kissing him back. It is a hazard of their love.

“OK, _I_ didn’t get tickets for the All Time Low Concert.”

Michael frowns, slouching immediately. Calum squeezes Michael’s hand. He waits until Michael looks back over at him before he speaks again. Michael is weak for Calum, as always, and he glances over at Calum in the next second.

“Ashton got them for us,” Calum says and then explains the impromptu phone call he had received while Michael was getting ready. He conveniently leaves out the possibility that they might get to meet the band. He doesn’t want to get Michael’s hopes up if that is outside of Ashton’s ability to deliver. On the off-chance that it isn’t and Ashton actually gets them backstage passes, Calum figures Ashton should share the reward of Michael’s excitement.

“You know, I wasn’t so sure about this Ashton fellow when you first came home gushing all about him, but he might be worth something after all,” teases Michael.

Calum blushes. He knows he has talked a lot about Ashton to Michael over the past couple of days. He hadn’t intended for Ashton to be a frequent topic, but Calum had enjoyed talking with Ashton so, so much that he couldn’t _not_ talk about him to Michael. Calum shares his entire life with Michael. It is only fair that he shares Ashton, too. But, looking back on it, maybe Calum was a little too strong about Ashton.

“Hey, you know I don’t mind, right?”asks Michael in the next moment. He is serious this time, his expression sober. It is like he’s reading Calum’s mind. Maybe he is. Michael has always had a knack for reading Calum in general and for assessing where Calum’s head is at. “I told you when you first mentioned him that I thought he sounded like a pretty cool dude, especially since he was nice enough to cover your coffee when you left your wallet at the apartment. I’m looking forward to meeting him, actually.”

Calum smiles. He is so full of love for Michael that he feels all over the place with happiness. He squeezes Michael’s hand again to communicate his joy, because he doesn’t quite know how to put it in words that Michael is the sole reason for Calum’s existence. Michael immediately squeezes his hand back, and Calum thinks that Michael might understand everything that he doesn’t know how to say.

“Funny you should say that, ‘cause Ashton pretty much told me the same thing earlier on the phone,” says Calum.

Michael blushes, promptly looking away from Calum. It is obvious by his mannerisms, by how he loosens his hold on Calum’s hand, that he doesn’t believe Calum’s words. He never does when it comes to something that is complimentary. Calum hates it. He hates how insecure Michael can be about himself, hates how he doesn’t know how to make Michael see what he sees: that Michael is Calum’s favorite person in the entire world, and he is so, so worthy of love.

Mostly, Calum hates how the ugly name on his own wrist only serves to add fuel to the fire that Michael isn’t even worth the name on his own arm.

“He’ll love you,” says Calum, because he knows Ashton will. He doesn’t think Ashton can really hate anybody, but he knows to his very core that Ashton will love Michael, because Michael is funny and sarcastic and so enthusiastic about the things he loves. Calum has done nothing but praise Michael to Ashton since they met, and he knows—Ashton has told him—that Ashton really is looking forward to meeting Michael.

“You don’t have to sell him to me,” says Michael, raising his shields. He speaks quietly and chooses to look at the center now that its within sight instead of at Calum.  It is a defense mechanism, Michael’s way of ignoring the idea that somebody other than Calum could _love_ him, if even only in the friendly manner Calum had meant. “He’s already gold in my book. I mean, c’mon, Cal. We’re seeing All Time Low thanks to him.”

Calum laughs. It is a little faint, admittedly, and he puts entirely too much effort into it, but it is the response he knows Michael is looking for. Michael doesn’t like airing out his insecurities. Nobody does, of course, but Calum feels exceptionally protective of Michael. He always has. Michael is precious.

“Is that all it takes for a man to win you over?” teases Calum.

“No,” says Michael, smiling over at Calum. The shadows of insecurity are gone from his face. He is looking at Calum like Calum is the answer to all things good in the universe. It is how Michael usually looks at Calum. “You won me over first thing when you were eight and we met for the first time and you still couldn’t tie your shoelaces properly.”

“Still can’t.”

“And I still love you,” says Michael. He squeezes Calum’s hand. He leans over to press a soft kiss to the corner of Calum’s lips as they continue to walk. “Hell, I’d still love you even if you did tie your shoelaces correctly. We’re soulmates for a reason, you know.”

“Yeah,” says Calum, and he doesn’t think about the fact that they’re not _technically_ soulmates. That the name on his wrist isn’t Michael’s. Because the thing is, name or no name, Michael makes Calum feel complete. He makes Calum feel loved and safe and protected and all of those other good things that soulmates are supposed to make each other feel.

For all intents and purposes, Michael _is_ Calum’s soulmate.

 

Ashton is a walking, talking mess whenever Calum and Michael finally find him backstage at the venue. Calum had texted Ashton as soon as he and Michael arrived at the center, and Ashton had sent somebody for them. The place is buzzing with activity, which could only be expected given the concert is slotted to begin in less than fifteen minutes. Calum almost feels lost in the hustle and bustle, but he spots Ashton easily among the unfamiliar faces. Grinning triumphantly, he drags Michael toward Ashton, who has yet to notice their arrival.

Ashton is pacing the floor, five steps forward then five steps in the other direction. He is muttering to himself. His hair is a mess of curls atop his head. He runs one hand through it, distressed, and Calum assumes Ashton’s nervous tick is responsible for the hairstyle. The whole sight is endearing.  Calum’s breath catches in his throat.

Ashton looks up then, catching sight of them. He grins, the worry on his face disappearing right before their eyes. Calum nearly stumbles over his own feet. If not for Michael’s steady hand in his, he probably would have. Calum’s misstep doesn’t get past Michael, who curiously glances over at him. Calum squeezes Michael’s hand as an apology. Calum resolutely refuses to consider any reason he might have to apologize other than for the fact that he nearly tripped them both up.

Michael is his _soulmate_. Calum shouldn’t be so affected by Ashton. He shouldn’t be, because at the end of the day, Ashton is just a friend, and Calum has Michael, and Michael is all Calum will ever need.

“Thank God you’re here,” says Ashton, breathless. He rushes forward to throw his arms around Calum _and_ Michael, catching them around their shoulders and drawing them both close to him. “I just asked somebody where the toilets were, and I was standing outside of the men’s facilities.”

Calum melts into Ashton’s arms before he can think of all the reasons he shouldn’t. It feels so good to be held by Ashton that Calum can’t help it. He closes his eyes, and he rests his cheek against Ashton’s shoulder, his nose pressed into the skin of Ashton’s neck. He can feel Michael pressed along his side, always there where he belongs. Calum is overcome with such a great rush of _peace_ that he momentarily forgets he should be calming Ashton down.

“Sounds like me when I’m drunk,” says Michael when Calum proves to be of no comforting help.

Michael says it in jest—though Calum has stories upon stories that prove Michael does in fact sound like that when he has had one too many—but there is a soothing rhythm to Michael’s voice that eases Ashton into collapsing into them. It is the same voice Michael uses late at night when Calum is sleepless and keeping them both up, when Michael promises Calum the world and doesn’t care that he is losing out on his precious sleep. Now, Michael is using the same technique on Ashton’s overworked mind, and it is working as well as it always does. Calum loves this about Michael. He loves the fact that Michael can make all of the bad things go away so simply.

Calum loves the fact that when Ashton goes to pull back, Calum isn’t the only one who holds onto him and keeps him close. Michael does, too.

“I feel like I need a drink,” murmurs Ashton, quiet into the space between Michael and Calum like it is a secret. Like it is _their_ secret and nobody else’s. He chuckles softly. “I don’t—not really—but I’m a total mess right now.”

“You’re doing fine, Ashton,” Calum assures him, patting him on the back. His fingers ghost against the tips of Michael’s. “Everybody gets nervous sometimes.”

“But I shouldn’t be!” says Ashton. When he tries to step away from this time, they both reluctantly let him. His eyes are wild, wide and darting from Calum to Michael and back again.“This is my job. I go to concerts all of the time, and I interview the bands. Hell, I’ve interviewed _this_ band before, so I don’t know what my problem is.”

Michael bumps his elbow against Calum’s arm, his gaze firmly locked on Ashton. It seems like an accidental thing, but Calum knows it isn’t. He and Michael have lived their entire lives, practically, in one another’s pocket. Calum knows it is Michael’s way of silently saying _this is all you_. Calum sighs as he contemplates the best way to soothe Ashton. He thinks of how distressed Ashton had sounded over the phone earlier. It strikes him that it isn’t the first time he has heard such desperation in Ashton’s voice. Ashton had sounded just as troubled when he had confessed that the man who he is in love with isn’t his soulmate.

It is a long shot, but Calum dares to ask, “Didn’t you say your roommate normally goes to these things with you?”

Ashton freezes. It is an almost imperceptible thing, the way his entire body goes rigid and his lips become a thin line, but Calum picks up on it instantly. He knows he has hit the nail on the head, just like he always knows that Michael scratches the back of his neck when he is lying to Calum for Calum’s own good—not that Michael makes it a habit to lie to Calum in general, because, truthfully, Michael isn’t very good at it and only does it on rare occasions that demand half-truths at the most, such as birthdays and dates.

“Did he, like, meet his soulmate already or something? Is that why he’s not here now?” asks Calum.

Ashton recovers a little too quickly and rushes out to say, “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s got a gig—”

“I wish you wouldn’t lie to me,” interrupts Calum.

Ashton looks so guilty so instantly that Calum’s heart physically hurts. He wants Ashton to trust him. They’re friends—or at least Calum would like to think they are, even though they have only known each other a few days by now. Calum has already told Ashton the biggest secret of his life, the one thing he never, ever tells anybody, and that is the fact that Michael’s name isn’t the one on Calum’s wrist. While Calum doesn’t think that is a free-for-all ticket into Ashton’s most intimate secrets, Calum has never felt so comfortable with somebody so quickly before, except with Michael, and Calum had thought Ashton felt the same way, too.

“He hasn’t met his soulmate yet,” says Ashton, defeated. He stares down at his feet. His voice is quiet. He sounds halfway between relieved and guilty, like he can’t decide whether to be happy that his roommate hasn’t yet found the love of his life or to hate himself for being glad about it. “I don’t think, at least. He hasn’t even—he’s been distant lately. I don’t—I don’t even know the name he’s got. It’s been _days_ , and I’ve hardly seen him. I think he might be avoiding me on purpose. Like, this morning, he was eating cereal at the table when I went into the kitchen, and he immediately just _left_.”

“Maybe he was late for something?” suggests Calum.

Ashton smiles sadly up at him, appreciating Calum’s effort, but he shakes his head. The smile is gone in the next second. He sighs.

“He hid out in his room all day. I think, maybe, he’s upset about his soulmate—which is ridiculous, because whoever they are, they’re going to be perfect for him, and if they don’t love him like he deserves, I’ll kick their ass and love him myself.”

“You already kinda do that last part,” says Calum.

“Yeah, I do,” says Ashton. He chuckles humorlessly, because it is really not that funny that he is in love with a man who isn’t his soulmate. When his laughter dries up, he nods toward Michael. He is done talking about his roommate, Calum knows, and he is eager, instead, for a new topic of conversation. “Enough about that for now. Aren’t you going to introduce me to the lucky man who’s stolen your heart?”

“Of course,” agrees Calum. He squeezes Michael’s hand, smiling fondly over at him then looking back at Ashton. “This is Michael.”

For the second time in less than five minutes, Ashton goes rigid. He stares open-mouthed at Michael, like he can’t quite believe his eyes. He scratches at his left collarbone, almost thoughtlessly, and when Michael extends his hand, ever friendly, Ashton just stares at it, too. Michael glances uncertainly over at Calum, his hand still held out to Ashton.

Calum doesn’t know what to do. Or even say. The air between them thickens, and Calum can hardly draw enough into his lungs to keep them from burning. Everything feels wrong. Calum thinks that maybe he has missed something—but he isn’t quite sure how such a simple introduction could cause such an intense reaction.

Ashton snaps himself out of his stupor on his own, nearly an entire minute after he had fallen into it. He turns his gaze on Calum like he can’t bear to look at Michael any longer. There is a glint of accusation in his eyes.

“You—you didn’t tell me your boyfriend’s name was _Michael_.”

Surely, Calum had. Calum never, ever shuts up about Michael, as Michael is the thing Calum is most proud of in his entire life. He waxes poetically about Michael to his teammates all of the time, and they rib him for it, all in good fun. Calum loves Michael. He lies to everybody that Michael is his soulmate. He wants the entire world to know that Michael is his—that nobody else is lucky enough to have Michael to call their own—so, _surely_ , Calum has mentioned Michael by name to Ashton.

But even if he hasn’t, Calum isn’t sure why it matters.

“Uh,” says Calum, unintelligibly, but he has no idea how to proceed from here. Ashton has just thrown him a curveball, and Calum doesn’t even have a baseball mitt to catch it. Calum doesn’t understand why this is such an important thing.

“D’you have a problem with my name or something?” challenges Michael, glaring at Ashton, before Calum can proceed.

 Michael drops his hand to his side. His fingers tremble, and Calum knows Michael isn’t itching for a fight. Michael isn’t even mad. He is hurt. The curious thing is, though, that Michael is one of the strongest, toughest people Calum knows. He doesn’t generally wear his heart on his sleeve, and there is only one important exception to his diamond-thick armor: Calum himself.

Calum is the only person who has ever seen Michael vulnerable or scared or hurt. Nobody else in the entire world is privileged to witness such an intimate reaction. Not the bullies on the playground who pushed him around when they were kids and nobody except Calum liked Michael, because Michael was weird, preferring to trade Pokémon cards during recess instead of climbing up on top of the scary jungle gym. Not the bastard who stole Michael’s heart and then stomped on it like it meant nothing when Michael was seventeen and believed he wasn’t worthy of being loved. Not the jerk down at the corner restaurant who called Michael a futureless-nobody and refused him service because Michael dyes his hair different colors and makes his living off creating indie video games instead of keeping a nine-to-five job. Nobody has ever seen Michael trembling with self-conscious anxiety.

Except now, Ashton is witnessing Michael at his most vulnerable, too.

It is a heart-breaking sight. Calum never, ever wants to see the self-hatred flare up in Michael’s eyes, especially induced when induced by somebody else’s carelessness. Calum tightens his grip on Michael’s hand. He tries to tug Michael close to him—desperate to wrap his arms around Michael and soothe away all of the bad thoughts that are no doubt rearing their ugly heads in Michael’s mind right now—but Michael stands his ground.

“Do you?” Michael repeats.

“No— _no_ ,” Ashton rushes to say. His face heats up, turning blood red in a split second. He scratches at his collarbone again but stops suddenly, as if remembering himself. He drops his hand to his side and balls it into a fist. Everything about him is stilted. He draws in a sharp breath then lets it all out. “Sorry, I was just a little surprised. I’ve been waiting to meet you for like my entire—I mean, since I met Calum, and, uh, I can’t believe that—”

But whatever it is that Ashton can’t believe, neither Calum nor Michael find out. A stagehand appears almost out of nowhere and taps Ashton on his shoulder, immediately commandeering Ashton’s attention. Ashton seems eager to give it. He sighs in relief then shoots Calum and Michael an apologetic smile before the turns around to speak with the stagehand.

Calum stares at the back of Ashton’s head, his own mind cluttered with questions upon questions as to why Ashton reacted so oddly to Michael. It was just a simple introduction, one that garnered only a formalistic handshake and a polite nod, maybe. Calum can’t help but to feel like Ashton was more than just a little surprised.

 

The concert is amazing. Ashton gets them as close to the stage as possible, and they have an amazing view of All Time Low rocking it out. Calum thinks this might be the best date-night ever. Michael surely seems to think as much, bouncing on his feet and belting out every single lyric with his entire heart and soul. Calum enjoys himself, too, though not as lively as Michael does. He sings along with the songs he knows. Halfway through the set, he elbows Ashton and says, yelling above the music to be heard, _This is fucking awesome, man!_ and Ashton grins back.

Afterwards, Ashton has to interview the band. He makes good on his promise to get Michael and Calum a chance to meet the band, too, telling anybody who asks that they’re with him. The declaration carries enough weight to get Michael and Calum into the band’s dressing room with Ashton.

Michael is as over the moon as Calum predicted he would be. Any earlier animosity between Michael and Ashton is a long-forgotten memory as, just outside of the dressing room, Michael squeals in excitement and tugs Ashton in for a tight hug. Ashton doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms back around Michael. He holds Michael just like Calum does: like Michael is the most precious and loved thing in the entire world. Calum smiles at the pair of them, and then they’re stepping into the dressing room.

The interview itself is a laidback affair. Michael and Calum hang back out of the way and observe Ashton in his element. The nervous wreck of a man from earlier is gone. There are no traces left. Ashton has an easy rapport with the members. They call him _Ash_ and ask why he stopped wearing his bandana around his head and inquire after Ashton’s roommate like they are old friends who know everything about Ashton. Who care about Ashton.

For his part, Ashton is just as intimately friendly with the band, but he is all business when it comes to the actual interview process. The questions flow freely. He hardly consults any notes, and whenever there is a rare beat of silence, the band members step up with some banter to give Ashton time to catch his breath.

It is a phenomenal thing to watch. Ashton is as much of an artist as the musicians he is speaking with. He carries the interview with such flawless perfection that it seems to take no time at all, though half of an hour easily passes. When the interview wraps up and Ashton puts away his work gear, it is like a switch has been flipped. The band returns to their previous intimacy, demanding to know who the stragglers are that followed Ashton in.

Ashton grins over his shoulder at Calum and Michael, and the band means no harm by referring to Michael and Calum as such—the devilish smirks on all of their faces belie any cruelty their words might otherwise convey.

“This is Calum and Michael,” says Ashton, simple as if they don’t need any other title. He motions them over. “And I crashed date night, apparently.”

The band gets a big hoot out of Ashton’s mini-meltdown story, and they treat Calum and Michael just like they’ve treated Ashton this entire time: like good, old friends. Like the fact that they are good enough for Ashton means they are good enough for them, too.

Calum and Michael shuffle closer, taking a seat on the couch next to Ashton. Calum holds Michael’s hand the entire time, his left side pressed flush against Ashton. It is as close to perfect as Calum has ever known. He feels like this is where he belongs, between Michael and Ashton and having the time of his life.

This is a night Calum won’t ever forget.

 

But somewhere deep inside of his heart, in the deepest pits of betrayal, Calum feels a tinge of emptiness. Like there is something missing. Like the mysterious _Luke_ should be here, too. Like they all belong together.

 

Oddly enough, Calum meets Luke the following Tuesday. He is running late for work, but it isn’t his fault, really. The blame is entirely on his teammate, Brian, who had insisted they needed to stop by the café, because _they have the best croissants in the entire city, Cal! And I’m starving!_ Calum couldn’t think of a valid reason why they shouldn’t stop in for a five-minute detour and buy breakfast for the entire team—or at least Brian can buy croissants for the entire team, because Calum has yet again left his wallet at home. All he has on him is a ten, and he is pretty sure that won’t cover the price of two and a half dozen croissants. Besides, he doesn’t want to starve come dinnertime.

So Calum follows Brian into the café, because breakfast does sound good, and they are not really _late_ late anyway. Calum just prefers to get to the stadium about half of an hour earlier than they have to be there so that he can psyche himself up for the training day to come. He can just as easily do that in a café. Well, theoretically, he can.

Calum likes this café. He has never been a frequent customer—preferring to grab his lunches from the tiny diner a couple of streets over—but he has liked it every time he has stopped in here. This morning is no different. It has a quaint atmosphere. The news is playing at a low volume on an ancient television attached to the wall in the back corner. Several customers are spread out amongst the intimate, small tables. A lone worker stands behind the register. He has blond hair, a lip ring, and a nametag that reads _Hi, my name is_ _Penguin_. Calum wonders if that is the man’s actual name.

“Welcome to Jet Black Heart Café,” greets Penguin, smiling warmly at Brian and Calum. “What can I get you this morning?”

Brian rattles off an order for the entire team for the warm croissants displayed in the case next to the counter. He doesn’t bother with specifying why on earth two men need thirty croissants. Then again, Calum doesn’t expect him to. Brian likes a good laugh, even when it is at his expense, and Calum knows that this is a story Penguin is going to take home with him today. Brian bypasses an explanation to add a large sweetened coffee to the toll instead then tells the worker to include whatever Calum wants.

Penguin’s eyes are so, so blue when they turn on Calum, and Calum’s heart does this thing in his chest where it can’t quite decide if it wants to pound rapidly or stop beating altogether. Calum feels his face heat up. He stammers out a request for a small black coffee, breathless. The worker nods and punches a few buttons on the register. Brian hands over his card to pay.

With the worker distracted, Calum finally catches his breath. He silently curses himself for getting so worked up over a total stranger. He feels a little guilty in the way he always does when he finds somebody other than Michael, _his soulmate_ , attractive. Sure, the stranger is very handsome. Calum has always had a thing for facial piercings—Michael’s eyebrow bar is quite possibly Calum’s favorite thing in the entire word—so he is already weak for how _good_ the ring looks curled around Penguin’s bottom lip.

“I’m gonna take a piss. Wait for the order, yeah, Calum?” says Brian, and then he promptly disappears toward the men’s restroom in the back of the café.

Calum shuffles awkwardly farther down the counter so that he isn’t blocking the register anymore. There is nobody in line behind him, though. He supposes he could take a seat at one of the half of a dozen empty tables, but he doubts it will take too long for their order to be ready. Penguin has already made Brian’s entirely too sweet coffee, and he is finishing up Calum’s simple order. When he completes both of them, he sets them down in front of Calum. He takes out a cardboard to-go box from underneath the counter and begins to fill it up with the pastries.

“This some kind of competition I don’t know about? Two men versus thirty croissants?” asks Penguin, grinning unfairly at Calum above the glass of the display case. “’Cause I think you might need more than just a small coffee, mate.”

Calum laughs. “Nah. It’s for the team. Brian’s got this big idea to bribe them all for the two of us being exceptionally late. I doubt it’ll work, honestly. I see many, many laps in my future.”

“In that case, you’re going to need more than just a small coffee.”

Calum picks up the drink in question, just so he has something else to focus on other than the way Penguin’s eyes light up so prettily when he grins. Calum shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts about a stranger. It is bad enough that he has errant thoughts about Ashton on occasion. He can’t be star struck by every attractive man. He loves Michael.

Deep down, though, Calum has to acknowledge the fact that Penguin reminds him a lot of Michael. Penguin has a facial piercing, and his humor is like the drop-dead sarcasm Michael favors so much, and maybe— _just maybe_ —Penguin makes Calum’s heart beat a little off-rhythm just like Michael does. Calum sees a little too much of Michael in Penguin, so, surely, he doesn’t have to feel guilty about his heart-eyed reaction to Penguin since it is basically Michael that Calum is thinking of. Surely, that is how that works.

Only the sinking feeling in the pit of Calum’s stomach knows that isn’t how it works at all.

“Poke fun at my impending misery all you want, but you’re the one named Penguin,” says Calum.

Penguin freezes, his glove-covered hand hovering above the last croissant. He furrows his eyebrows at Calum for a moment until realization slowly dawns upon him. He glances down at the nametag on his chest and laughs. He grabs the last croissant then straightens up.

“That’s not my name,” says Penguin, still laughing. “Seriously, who in the world would name their kid _Penguin_?”

“Who wears a nametag with Penguin on it?” counters Calum, but he is laughing as well. He knew Penguin couldn’t be the man’s name. It is too ridiculous, but there is certainly a story behind it.

“Well, the manager doesn’t like us forgetting our nametags, right? I left mine in my roommate’s car yesterday, and I didn’t realize it until I was literally turning over the sign on the door,” explains Penguin. His cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. It is pretty on him. He pushes the box of croissants into Calum’s free hand, their fingers brushing against one another, and Calum’s skin tingles like a zap of static electricity. The touch, though, is brief. Penguin pokes at his nametag. “I would have felt bad getting Ash out of bed at five-thirty in the morning to come bring me my nametag, so this was my manager’s compromise.”

“Compromise?” repeats Calum. He hasn’t yet stopped laughing, though he is trying to rein it in so that he doesn’t offend Penguin. He likes Penguin. Calum makes it a habit to be nice to people he likes, even strangers who serve him two and a half dozen croissants and make fun of his tiny coffee.

“Yeah, it’s my boss’s way of discouraging me from forgetting my nametag—and it’s working, you know. People have been giving me strange looks all morning, but you’re the only one brave enough to ask about it,” explains Penguin.

“Brave?” repeats Calum, because apparently he has been reduced to nothing except parroting. He clears his throat and then, when that doesn’t seem to help any, he takes a drink of his coffee. It is steaming hot and burns all of the way down. He fights hard against the urge to grimace. He feels like an idiot, and Penguin is biting his lips together to visibly keep from laughing _at him_. Calum’s face heats up again. “Not rude?”

Penguin smiles at him. It is a genuine thing. Any trace of his withheld laughter is gone. His eyes seem to twinkle a darker shade of blue.

“Nah, I suppose I brought it on myself. Besides, you seem a little too nice to be rude.”

Calum doesn’t know what to say to such a genuinely open compliment. He tries for a smile, but it sets awkwardly on his lips, and he wants to tell Penguin that _you seem pretty nice, too_ , but he feels all weird that he even considers voicing such a compliment. The words feel heavier on his tongue than they do in his mind when he goes to say them, so he keeps them to himself.

Brian appears in the next second, anyway, so even if Calum had wanted to return Penguin’s compliment, he wouldn’t have been given a chance to. Brian gathers up his coffee and takes the box of croissants from Calum. He thanks Penguin for the service then tells Calum to _hurry your ass up. We’re going to be late_. He saunters toward the door before Calum has time to point out that they are probably already late. Brian took forever in the men’s room.

Calum smiles back at Penguin and says, just to be cheeky, “Thanks for the coffee, Penguin.”

He takes a total of two steps away from the counter before Penguin’s voice chases after him, and Calum stops dead in his tracks at the sound. His entire world screeches to a halt. His heart stop beating in his chest. The air in his lungs become trapped. On his wrist, hidden beneath the ever-present thick, black band of his bracelet, the tiny four-lettered script burns like a hot fire.

“Luke. My name is Luke.”

The pit of Calum’s stomach drops to the floor, and so does the coffee in his hand. The dark liquid splashes into a sizeable mess, drenching Calum’s shoes and socks, but Calum hardly pays it any mind. He turns, instead, to look over his shoulder, because he is a masochist in all of the worst ways. For the first time in his entire life, he locks eyes with the man he knows is his _actual soulmate_.

Calum thinks he might vomit. He high-tails it out of the café instead.

 

Twenty-five minutes later, Calum stops running. He pants for his breath. He is drenched in sweat, and his limbs feel like they weigh a thousand pounds. He drags himself up the rickety old stairs of his apartment building, all the way to the third floor. His hands shake so violently when he tries to insert the key that Michael opens the door from the other side before Calum can even wrap his fingers around the correct one.

Michael takes a single look at the mess of a man that is Calum, and he gathers Calum into his arms, and he drags Calum into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. Calum feels like he is having an out of body experience. Like he is merely a passive observer trapped in his own body. Michael gently manhandles Calum over to the couch, where he sits them both down.

Calum immediately latches onto Michael’s chest, pulling himself into Michael’s lap. He can’t stop trembling. He can’t seem to catch his breath either. All that he can think about is how he has just met his soulmate—his _actual_ soulmate—and it isn’t Michael. That he can’t lie to himself that _Michael is his soulmate_ now that he’s met _Luke_.

“What’s wrong, Cal?” murmurs Michael, his lips pressed to the top of Calum’s head. He runs his hand up and down Calum’s back in comforting circles that gradually begins to steal some of the tension from Calum’s body. It is a cruel thing, almost, that Michael can calm Calum down so easily, and he is not Calum’s soulmate. “I thought you had practice this morning.”

Calum sucks in a shaky breath, burying his face in the crook of Michael’s neck. He shakes his head in response to Michael’s question, but he can’t bring himself to admit exactly why work is the least of his priorities.

“You didn’t—you didn’t get _fired_ , did you?” asks Michael, worried because Calum loves his job more than anything else in the entire world except for Michael, and Calum is trembling so terribly in his arms even after Michael’s best attempts to soothe him. “’Cause you know that there will be dozens of other teams eager to sign you, and I’ll follow you wherever it is that you go. Always.”

Calum smiles, albeit a little bit wobbly. He knows Michael can’t see him, but he presses his nose against Michael’s throat and shakes his head. He loves Michael. Loves that Michael is so concerned about him. Loves that Michael is so willing to drop everything at a moment’s notice if Calum so needed. Because that is what soulmates do for one another. They put the other person first, because they want the other person to be happy, because that person being happy makes them happy.

Michael’s soulmate is Calum, but Calum’s soulmate isn’t Michael.

“I didn’t get fired,” says Calum, though, if he had to choose between that or meeting the owner of the name printed on his wrist, he would rather lose his beloved job ten times over. His voice is raspy, and he stumbles over a couple of the words, but he knows Michael understands him. Michael always understands him.  That is what soulmates do. Calum’s heart lurches in his chest, and he closes his eyes. _Michael isn’t his soulmate_. _Fuck_.  

“You’re scaring me, Cal,” says Michael. He is never one to hide anything from Calum. He is always open and honest, because Calum is worth more than lies. Calum is his entire world. He has never ashamed to admit how he feels around Calum. “I don’t know how to make you feel better.”

“Please, don’t leave me,” begs Calum, keeping his face hidden in Michael’s neck. He owes Michael the truth—that he met _Luke_ —but he is terrified of what that means. He is terrified that maybe, just maybe Michael and Calum’s nice little bubble will burst. That Michael won’t want Calum anymore now that Calum has met the person fate says he is supposed to be with. Calum can’t lose Michael.

“Never,” Michael says, immediately. He draws Calum even closer to him, like he thinks that holding Calum any tighter will keep Calum with him where he belongs for the rest of forever. “I’ll never, ever leave you. Hell, if I died, I’d come back and haunt you as a ghost just so I’ll never leave you.”

Calum laughs. It is a little wet, saturated in the tears that Calum can’t stop falling from his eyes. The laughter itself doesn’t last too long, but the love he feels for Michael is forever.

“Please don’t joke about dying, Mikey. I can’t live without you.”

“And you think I can without you?” asks Michael. He sounds a little hysterical at the idea of living without Calum. He presses a slobbery kiss to the top of Calum’s head. He doesn’t move away. When he speaks again, he gets a mouthful of Calum’s hair for the effort, but it doesn’t stop him. “You’re my entire life. I’d sooner lose my drawing hand than lose you. You’re my _soulmate_.”

Calum draws in one final trembling breath. His heart is pounding like a drum in his chest, loud and fast and powerful. He feels like he is on the verge of skydiving out of an airplane thirteen thousand feet above the ground with a parachute on his back that he knows is faulty. It is now or never, and on the other side, he prays Michael will still want to be there with him.

“I met him.”

At first, Michael doesn’t react. Calum wonders if Michael even knows who _him_ is, but then Michael loosens his hold and draws back from Calum, and Calum’s world crashes to the ground. He clings to Michael, burying his face back into the crook of Michael’s neck. He digs his fingers into the soft, sensitive skin of Michael’s ribcage until his fingernails press through the fabric of Michael’s shirt into his skin. Michael hisses at the sharp pinpoints of pain. Calum can’t let go. He can’t lose Michael.

“Look at me, please, Cal,” says Michael, soft and gentle and ever-so-loving. He doesn’t pull any farther away, just sits there with Calum’s fingernails pressed razor-sharp into his skin, nearly drawing blood. He lets Calum have what he wants and doesn’t hold anything back. He never does.

The last thing in the entire world Calum wants is to look at Michael, to see the end of them glinting in Michael’s eyes. Calum, though, has always been weak for Michael. He can’t deny Michael anything. He has never been able to, not since they were eight years old and Michael was nice enough to tie Calum’s shoelaces for him when nobody else cared enough.

Calum closes his eyes and pulls away from Michael so that, if Calum were looking, they could at least see each other’s faces. Calum can’t bear the thought of looking. He can’t handle the idea of watching his entire life crumble.

Michael lets go of Calum with one arm so that he can cup Calum’s face. It is intimate in the way that Michael’s gentle touches always are, and Calum can’t help but to lean into it. Michael brushes his thumb across Calum’s cheekbone. He murmurs another request for Calum to look at him. He waits until Calum finally, _finally_ chances to open his eyes.

“I love you,” says Michael, immediate and passionate, and Calum’s heart skips a beat at the fervor of Michael’s voice. “I loved you when we were eight years old and you were the only kid nice enough to talk to me. I loved you when we were seventeen and slept together the first time, and you didn’t talk to me for three days afterwards. I loved you the day I turned twenty-one and found your name on my arm, and, dammit, I loved you the day _you_ turned twenty-one and my name wasn’t on your wrist. My love for you, that’s never going to change. The fact that you have met Luke doesn’t change anything. You’re my soulmate. I was born to love you.”

Calum’s breath catches in his throat. His lower lip wobbles. He feels like his heart is too big for his chest. Michael is looking at him with such conviction on his face that Calum can scarcely believe such a beautiful human being exists. That such a perfect human being could have _Calum’s name_ inked on his skin, forever marked as Calum’s. It makes Calum hate the universe a thousand times more for being so cruel as to not mark Calum as Michael’s, too.

“I love you, too,” Calum says, because Michael’s name isn’t on Calum’s wrist, so it is infinitely more important that Calum reminds Michael that he isn’t going anywhere, either. “I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, and _I will do that_ , Mikey, I swear, but—”

Calum stops himself, his next words dying on his tongue. He doesn’t think he’s brave enough to say them out loud. They are terrible things to utter. Calum never, ever wants to admit them to Michael, because he doesn’t want Michael to think that Calum loves him any less that whole-heartedly. In the end, Calum doesn’t have to finish his thought. Michael does it for him.

“It was much easier loving me before you actually met Luke.”

Wincing, Calum nods. Michael had sounded so matter-of-fact, and Calum wonders how Michael is managing it. How Michael can face such a disheartening truth but still smile at Calum like Calum is the most precious thing in the entire universe.

“Tell me,” prompts Michael after a beat. “Did you like Luke?”

“You can’t ask me that,” says Calum, shaking his head. He thinks he might cry. The truth is he _did_ like Luke, because _Luke reminded Calum of Michael_ , and Calum likes anything that reminds him of Michael. Calum had fallen into such easy banter with Luke that it was almost as natural as breathing instead of stilted like it should have been between strangers such as they actually are to one another. Calum had liked Luke when he thought Luke was _Penguin_ and nothing else. But Calum doesn’t like _Luke_ , his soulmate, because his soulmate should be _Michael_.

“It doesn’t make me love you any less if you did,” says Michael, stubborn yet gentle. “It doesn’t make _you_ love _me_ any less, either.”

Calum knows that. Logically, he does. Love isn’t a quantified thing. People don’t run out of it. Calum could love every single person in the world right now and still have love left over. That is just human nature. Calum knows this. He firmly believes this. But he can’t bring himself to admit to Michael that maybe, for a split second before _Penguin_ became _Luke_ , Calum had felt a fleeting bout of love-at-first-sight, the soulmate kind.

He can’t lie to Michael, either, so the compromise Calum comes to is a simple, “He reminded me of you,” and leaves it at that.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Life, as it always does, goes on. Calum takes heat from the coach for missing practice, and he runs his fair share of laps around the entire field for two solid weeks thereafter. Brian never asks Calum why he barreled out of the café that morning like a bullet from a gun. Calum suspects that perhaps Brian might already know the real reason. That Brian might know the soulmark hidden beneath Calum’s ever present bulky, black bracelet doesn’t read Michael. That Brian might further know the mark reads _Luke_ instead. Or, perhaps, Brian doesn’t know a damn thing but is rather good at being a friend.  Either way, Calum doesn’t care, because it means that he doesn’t have to confront the topic of Luke head-on.

Michael doesn’t broach the subject of Luke, either. True to Michael’s word, things don’t really change between Calum and Michael. They still have their Friday date nights, and they still have sex with one another on a regular—maybe a little too regular—basis, and Michael still refuses to wear long-sleeved shirts so that he can show off Calum’s name in all of its glory.

Calum, for his part, is extra affectionate with Michael, not that he wasn’t already. He makes sure he kisses Michael every morning first thing when they wake up, and he makes sure he kisses him right before they go to bed at night. He insists on evening-long cuddles on the couch, squashed together with no space separating them. On Saturday mornings, after their date nights, Calum wakes Michael up to breakfast in bed, because he knows Michael likes to be doted on. Besides, Michael _deserves_ to be doted on, and Calum is firm in his belief that he is going to spend the rest of his life loving Michael.

Michael is Calum’s soulmate, no matter how much the ugly four-lettered name on his wrist might suggest otherwise.

 

Calum grows comfortable with the pace of his life—with loving Michael and forgetting that he ever met Luke—but Ashton’s phone call early one Sunday morning brings all of that to a screeching end.

It has been weeks since Calum last spoke with Ashton and longer still since he last saw Ashton at the All Time Low concert. Calum had been so busy putting his life back on track after meeting Luke that he hadn’t cared much for keeping contact with anybody who wasn’t Michael. And Ashton… well, the few messages that Calum did send Ashton in the week following the concert either went unanswered altogether or answered with short, one-worded responses. Eventually, Calum had given up.

When Calum’s cell phone rings, cutting loudly through the serene silence that blankets the morning, Calum hardly bothers to glance at the caller ID before he answers it. He wants to stop the ringing, if nothing else, and, on the off-chance that it isn’t his sister or his parents calling, he might give the rude caller a few choice words for disturbing his nice sleep.

“’Lo?” he mumbles into the phone, still mostly asleep. Michael is wrapped around him like a second skin, and Calum sinks back into the curve of Michael’s body, safe and loved and warm right there. He never, ever wants to move.

“Calum?” comes a familiar voice across the line.

“What the hell, Ashton?” groans Calum, because Ashton can’t just mysteriously disappear for weeks and then call Calum up out of the blue at the crack of dawn on a whim. Calum peeks open an eye to glance at the red dial of the alarm clock on the bedside table. He glares at the time it displays. “It’s seven AM. What the hell are you doing up? Better yet, why the hell are you calling so early?”

Truthfully, Calum doesn’t care for an answer. He is inclined to just hang up right now, even though he knows that would be rude. Ashton hasn’t bothered talking to him for weeks. He has no business contacting him now, not at such an ungodly hour when Calum has plans to do nothing this morning except sleep curled up next to Michael where he belongs. Ashton, as far as Calum’s cranky, tired mind is concerned, can fuck off until a more decent hour of the day.

Before Calum can press the ‘end call’ button on his cell phone, however, Ashton’s anxious voice comes across the line again, and Calum freezes at the question.

“Who’s your soulmate?”

“It’s Michael, you know that.”

Ashton’s response comes not even a beat later, bull-headed. He clarifies his previous question even more, asking, “Whose name is on your wrist?”

In that very second, Calum swears that the world stops turning. His heart lurches up to his throat to stay there, and he sits straight-up in bed, throwing Michael off him in his haste. His grip on his phone is morbidly tight. It takes him a second to find his voice, but once he does, it comes out all high-pitched and squeaky, like the very sound is squeezed out of him by the invisible hand around his heart.

“Why the hell do you want to know that for?” whispers Calum, a demand that falls so terrifyingly heavy from his tongue.  “You know I don’t give a damn about the name on my wrist. Michael is my soulmate.”

“But Michael isn’t. Not really,” says Ashton, and he sounds a tad apologetic, like he knows that he is hurting Calum but he doesn’t know how else to approach this sensitive topic. Ashton stops, creating a bridge of silence before his next question. “It’s Luke, isn’t it?”

Calum snaps his mouth shut. The name in question burns like fire on his wrist, hidden away beneath the bulky black bracelet. He shoves his hand underneath the sheet pooling around his waist to resist the urge to dig his fingernails into the forbidden ink. Michael doesn’t like it when Calum hurts himself, even if it is in a vain effort to remove the atrocity on his wrist. 

The ensuing silence is enough of a confirmation for Ashton’s question, Calum is sure, but Ashton repeats it again.

“It’s Luke, isn’t it?”

Calum can’t breathe. He can’t speak. He can hardly think. The name on his wrist flares in white-hot pain, and he doesn’t even know how Ashton guessed it so easily or so correctly. He has never, ever told anybody except for Michael who the exact name on his wrist is. Hell, the vast majority of people that Calum knows think that Calum _does_ have Michael’s name somewhere unseen on his body—that he just prefers to wear the bulky, black bracelet on his wrist to throw the media off its game.

“Calum, please, tell me it’s Luke—you know, tall, blond hair, has a knack for forgetting his nametag at the café, so the manager made him one that says ‘Penguin.’ Tell me it’s him,” pleads Ashton.

It is then that Calum finally recognizes what the odd strain to Ashton’s voice actually is: desperation. The realization settles uncomfortably heavy in the pit of Calum’s stomach. The last time he heard Ashton sound this anxious was right before the concert when Ashton had finally admitted that the man who he was head over heels in love with had gotten his soulmark and had hardly spoken to Ashton in three days.

Everything snaps into place then. Calum wonders why it has taken so long during this phone call for him to put two and two together and realize that the name on Calum’s arm belongs to both the café worker _and_ to Ashton’s roommate. Calum pushes aside the sheet at his waist so that he can stare at the bulky black bracelet. A double dose of guilt twists at Calum’s heart. He hates the name on his wrist, but he knows Ashton would give the entire world if it were on his instead. Truthfully, Calum wishes it were Ashton’s, too.

“Calum—” begins Ashton, but his voice breaks, and he can’t continue.

Calum sighs. A tiny bit of his own heart breaks with Ashton’s voice. He knows he should say something—that he should confirm Ashton’s question just to put Ashton’s mind at ease—but the lump in his throat seems to have grown five times larger. Calum can hardly swallow around it, let alone speak, so he lets silence hang on the line between them as he prepares himself to confirm out loud for the very first time that _yes, Luke is his soulmate_. 

Behind Calum, Michael makes a confused half-awake protest that Calum is so far away, and he sits up in bed, too. He shuffles closer to Calum so that he can mold himself around Calum’s back again, eager for their closeness, even as mostly asleep as Michael still is. He nuzzles into the back of Calum’s neck, peppering kisses there in an attempt to lure Calum off the phone and back to sleep.

When, after the span of half of a moment, Michael starts to wake up a little more and realize that his ministrations are getting him nowhere, he rests his chin on Calum’s shoulder instead. He presses a soft kiss to Calum’s cheek, sensing that Calum needs to be held more than anything else in the world right now. Calum appreciates Michael so, so much. He always does, but, right now, his appreciation for Michael increases tenfold. The thing is that Calum isn’t strong on his own, not with Ashton’s prying question stripping him bare, but he is always strong with Michael. Calum doesn’t understand how it is possible to feel this perfect in the arms of somebody who isn’t his actual soulmate. It just doesn’t make sense.

Calum feels guilty for waking Michael up, and he should tell Michael as much, but he can’t find it in himself to think about  anything other than the ugly name on his wrist. Calum’s mind whirls a thousand miles per hour. He doesn’t even think, if he were to just hang up on Ashton right now and lay back down, that he could get his thoughts to slow down enough to get himself under control. He doesn’t know where Ashton gets off on thinking that Ashton has any right to know whose name it is, especially since Ashton was so understanding when Calum had confided in him that Michael isn’t his soulmate.

But Calum knows that he owes Ashton an answer. He knows somewhere deep down inside of himself that Ashton wouldn’t be asking unless he had a good reason to want to know—unless Ashton himself already suspected the identity of the name on Calum’s wrist.

“Yes,” Calum breathes. It’s enough for Ashton, probably, but Calum knows he can’t let it sit there. “Yes, it’s Luke.”

Calum doesn’t want to think about why this admission feels like a _new beginning_ in the right direction or why it doesn’t seem like the end of the world to admit the true identity of his soulmate to Ashton. He doesn’t, because that would create a whole new slew of questions that Calum doesn’t have the answers for. It is entirely too early in the day to worry about anything other than ending this phone call with Ashton and falling back asleep cuddled up with Michael.

Ashton is quiet for a beat after Calum’s admission, letting the truth soak in. Calum is even more certain that this isn’t really news to Ashton—that Ashton must have known for a little while—or else he wouldn’t sound so wrought about it now. Regardless, Calum feels like a world of weight has just been lifted off his shoulders with his admission, and he relaxes back into Michael’s arms. Michael presses a soft kiss to Calum’s cheek, the only part of Calum’s face he can reach. Calum rests his head against Michael’s and waits for Ashton to speak again, because he knows Ashton is going to. He can sense it in the loaded silence between them.

“I need you to tell him,” says Ashton, finally.

Calum snorts, hardly able to believe his ears. “Are you serious? You know that Michael is—”

“Your soulmate, yes,” interrupts Ashton. “But, listen, I need you to go down to the café right now and tell Luke that his name is on your wrist.”

Calum’s heart does a funny thing in its chest where it somehow stops beating and lurches at the same time. His stomach starts to churn, guilt settling in the pit of it, and he hasn’t even acquiesced to Ashton’s request. The entire idea of facing Luke right now—of proving to Luke that somebody out there _does_ has his name on their body but said somebody has already found their own soulmate who they will never, ever in a million years past forever leave—sounds like the worst kind of punishment in the entire world. Calum wouldn’t wish that on anybody, much less the owner of the name on his wrist.

“No, I won’t do that to him. That’s a bit cruel, don’t you think? For your soulmate to just show up—after _running away from you_ , shall I add—and tell you, ‘hey, I’m your soulmate, but I’m in love with the man who has my name on my arm, so sorry.’”

But Ashton isn’t that easy to dissuade. “Calum, you don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure you do, either,” spits Calum, sitting up again, enraged on behalf of Luke. He pauses for a second, assessing his anger. It is such a natural thing, this urge to protect Luke, that Calum isn’t sure if he should feel guilty about it. He feels just like he would if Ashton were asking Calum to break Michael’s heart.

And, _fuck_ , if that doesn’t feel like a slap right across the face. For the first time since the awful name appeared on his wrist, Calum imagines he feels for Luke how Michael feels for him: protective, dedicated, _loving_. A lump forms in Calum’s throat. He should feel immensely guilty for having these feelings for Luke, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t feel like he is cheating Michael out of anything. Truthfully, that has been Calum’s greatest fear this entire time—to throw Michael’s love back in his face when all Calum wants to do for the rest of forever is to show him how much Calum loves him.

“Look, Luke is in a really bad place right now,” says Ashton. “He has it in his head that no one has his name on their body. That he isn’t good enough for anyone to have him for a soulmate.”

“That’s ridiculous,” croaks Calum.

He cranes his head to look behind him at Michael. He knows that Michael can overhear this entire conversation, and he wonders if this is how Michael feels every time he looks at the bracelet on Calum’s wrist and knows his name isn’t underneath it. That his name isn’t on his soulmate’s body. He wonders if the reminder is a punch right to Michael’s gut single time.

“He just got his soulmark,” Calum reasons. His voice trembles over the syllables, breaking in inconvenient places. It is the best Calum can do with his heart shattering in his chest at the idea of being so mean to the name on his wrist. To _Luke_. “Maybe the name on his skin is the person he’s supposed to end up with.”

“He says it isn’t,” insists Ashton.

“How can he know for sure? I mean, what’s the point of soulmates anyway if one person can have another person’s name on them but that other person doesn’t have theirs? What then? Whose heart ends up broken in the end?”

“Right now? Luke’s,” snaps Ashton, and he sighs. When he speaks again, he sounds tired. Like he has carried a heavy load for too long but can’t bear it anymore. It twists at Calum’s heart in the most painful of ways, just like it would if it were Michael in Ashton’s shoes right now. Ashton should never, ever sound so defeated. “Listen, I’m not asking you to leave Michael. I—I know you love him, and that you’re going to stick with him no matter what. I’m just asking you to help Luke out. He may not be the name you wish you had, but his name is on your wrist, and right now he doesn’t believe he’s worth anything, and it would mean the world to him if he could actually see that he is good enough for somebody.”

“I don’t think I’m the best person to prove that he’s good enough for somebody,” says Calum, doubtfully.

He isn’t. He can’t be. Luke’s name is on his wrist, but Calum’s is on Michael’s arm, and, given the choice, Calum would choose Michael eleven times out of ten. Michael is Calum’s soulmate, mark or no mark. The thought of hurting Luke—of showing Luke the name on Calum’s wrist but then turning around and telling Luke that Calum has Michael and Calum will never, ever choose anybody over Michael—is easily on the top ten list of things Calum doesn’t ever want to do. He can’t crush somebody like that, much less the owner of the name on his wrist—the man who is supposed to be his soulmate—and he refuses to do it to Luke.

The kicker of it all—the ultimate trump card—is that Calum likes Luke. He had liked Luke as Penguin, before he had even known that _Penguin was Luke, his soulmate_ , so he can’t do what Ashton is asking of him. He can’t.

“Isn’t it just going to hurt him worse to know that, yes, I have his name, but, also, my name is on Michael’s arm, and I can’t choose Luke when I have Michael?” asks Calum, his voice small.

On the other side of the line, Ashton sighs again. It sounds like a surrender, but  Calum doesn’t know how he feels about that. Strangely, victory doesn’t feel as good as he thought it would, even though Calum knows that he can’t be a downright bastard to Luke. He can’t get Luke’s hopes up only to crush them.

“What if it didn’t matter in the end? What if, hypothetically, you _did_ have Michael’s name on you?”

“But I don’t,” says Calum.

“If you _did_ , though,” says Ashton, doggedly, “would it change things? If you had Luke’s name _and_ Michael’s name on your body?”

It sounds like the beginning of Calum’s wildest dream, but he isn’t naïve. The soulmate system is a one-and-done type of thing. Nobody can have it all. No matter how much Calum wishes Michael’s name was on his body somewhere, it isn’t. Luke’s is.

“The world doesn’t work like that.”

Ashton laughs, a little too high-pitched to sound anything except hysterical. Calum feels a flash of indignation run through him. He wants to call Ashton on being so rude, but Ashton beats him to the punch.

“Now, I know how ridiculous I sounded to Ashley,” says Ashton. Then, without explaining himself, he barrels forward to ask, “Have you looked at your collarbone lately? Your left one? Because you should, and then you should think about helping Luke out, all right?”

Ashton doesn’t give Calum a chance to respond. A click comes across the line, and Calum knows without pulling back the phone that Ashton has hung up on him. He lets his phone fall from his slack hand to the bed, his mind too caught up in replaying Ashton’s final request to comprehend anything beyond that.

Slowly, he glances down at his collarbone, but his t-shirt is covering it, so he can’t see anything. He is partially glad of it, because he is terrified of what might lie underneath. He glances over his shoulder at Michael before realizing how silly it is that he doesn’t just turn around to face him, so he does in the next second. The air around them grows thicker, heavier, when Calum stops face-to-face with Michael. Calum swallows the spit that has gathered in his mouth then draws in a trembling breath. Michael glances down at Calum’s collarbone before looking back up to meet Calum’s eyes.

This moment feels like it is important—like it is still part of that brand new beginning that Calum’s earlier admission to Ashton had sparked—but Calum is frozen. He doesn’t know what lies underneath his shirt, which is, admittedly, absurd. Calum has seen himself naked plenty of times. He makes it a habit to brush his teeth naked every morning after his shower with nothing except a towel wrapped around his shoulders to catch the water dripping from his hair. He has sex with Michael several times a week—often several times _a day_. Surely, if there was something on Calum’s collarbone—something impossible like _a soulmark_ as Ashton’s words had seemed to imply—Calum would have noticed long before now.

 _Except you never really see yourself naked, do you?_ asks the ever-practical, tiny voice in the back of Calum’s mind.  _Think of the towel. Of the low-lighted areas you and Michael sex in. Of the handjobs on the couch that don’t exactly constitute full-nakedness_. _Of the coach’s ban of practicing shirtless after Brian took that nasty dive a few weeks back and ended up needing six stitches across his stomach_.

Calum never sees himself properly naked, and he has never really thought much of it. Everybody knows what their own bodies look like. No one wakes up one day expecting to find something brand new in their skin, except on their twenty-first birthdays, and Calum has already woken up to the name _Luke_ scrawled across his wrist. He has had no reason to search for a new mark.

People don’t have more than one soulmate. People don’t have more than one mark, either. That isn’t how the universe works. Calum doesn’t understand what Ashton expects Calum to find underneath his shirt, because Ashton seems to be under the impression that Michael’s name might be there, and that—well, that is _impossible_. Calum can’t bring himself to lift up his shirt and see. He can’t.

Michael, sensing Calum’s hesitation, smiles encouragingly. The glint in his eyes suggests he is just as intrigued by Ashton’s command as Calum himself is, but he isn’t anywhere near as fearful. Then again, all Michael has ever wanted out of life is for his name to be somewhere on Calum’s body, and Ashton has just given Michael every reason to believe that it might be possible.

Calum thinks about the one thing he wants out of life, too, and that is Michael—more specifically, that is Michael’s name on his body as proof that Michael belongs to him as much as he belongs to Michael. Here is his chance, possibly. He doesn’t know why he is still hesitating. This could be the beginning of _forever_ , so Calum closes his eyes.

Slowly, with trembling hands and baited breath, he pulls the t-shirt up over his head. Michael gasps before Calum is even free of his t-shirt. He launches himself forward onto his knees until his face is barely an inch from Calum’s chest. He draws in a trembling breath of disbelief, sounding like every single wish he has ever made have all come true at once.

Michael pokes at the skin along Calum’s collarbone. Calum startles at the sharp sting of _love_ that he only ever feels whenever he accidentally brushes his own fingers across the name on his wrist. This time, though, the sensation is coming straight from his collarbone.

“Cal…” breathes Michael, reverent and nearly speechless. “Look.”

When Calum does, his heart stops beating. Time comes to a screeching halt. There, etched into Calum’s skin just below his collarbone, is the faintest splash of ink curled into Michael’s name. It is weak, barely there, and _it is impossible_ , but it has all of the makings of a soulmark. Calum can’t help but to touch it. But to run his pointer finger along the faint lines that spell out the most beautiful name in the entire world—that finally, _finally_ mark Calum as Michael’s.

Calum looks up to meet Michael’s eyes again, and he sees the same awe he feels shining in Michael’s watery gaze. Michael’s breaths come in short pants, like he can’t quite believe the name on Calum’s collarbone. Calum knows the feeling. He feels light-headed at the idea that Michael’s name is marked into his skin, because _it is impossible_.

“What d’you—what d’you think this means?” asks Calum. He sounds just as wrecked as he does when he and Michael spend hours upon hours loving each other. Calum’s heart stutters in his chest. He is almost terrified that he this is only a dream, that Ashton never called him, and that he is sleeping soundly in bed with Michael with the skin of his collarbone unmarked.

But this feels more real than any dream he has ever had. Michael’s finger pressed against the faint soulmark on his skin is grounding in all the ways that are impossible in the dream world. Calum knows he is awake. He knows this is reality, regardless of however _impossible_ it is that Michael’s name stains his skin.

Michael doesn’t have an answer for Calum right away. His gaze darts back down to his name on Calum’s collarbone one more time as if to make sure it is still there. When he meets Calum’s eyes again, he slowly shakes his head. He looks as dumbstruck as Calum feels, but he smiles anyway.

“I think it means you probably owe Ashton a favor.”

 _Yeah,_ Calum thinks. He probably does, and he tells Michael as much. In the next second, as he and Michael return their attention to the miraculous mark on Calum’s shoulder, Calum wonders how Ashton knew in the first place.

 

An hour later, Calum strolls into the one café in the entire city he swore he would never return. His entire face heats up when the bell dings above the door and announces his entrance. He stares at the spot on the floor halfway between here and the counter, and he remembers how coffee had stained it brown. The floor is clean now, but the flush of humiliation still chases across Calum’s cheeks.

Calum almost wants to turn and leave right now so that he can’t forget all about how he had caused a scene right here. How he had been rude to Luke, running off with no explanation and leaving a mess behind. How he had nearly fallen apart in this very café when he had met, for the first time, the owner of the name inked into his wrist.

But Calum has Michael’s name on his collarbone now and Michael’s hand in his own. He owes Ashton the biggest favor in the entire world, so he sticks to his guns. He holds his head up high as he walks up to the counter, dragging Michael with him. He lets go of Michael’s hand as they slow to a stop.

The person on the other side isn’t Luke, unfortunately. It is a woman with dark hair, dark blue painted lips, and a soulmark on the back of the thumb of her right hand. Calum can’t read the name imprinted in her skin, but the one on her nametag reads Ashley.

“Welcome to Jet Black Heart Café,” she greets, smiling at the both of them. “What can I get you?”

“Is Luke here?” asks Calum.

The smile drops instantly from Ashley’s face, ten times quicker than it had appeared. She looks Calum over then Michael, paying particular attention to the name that is prominently displayed on Michael’s arm. She glances over her shoulder at the door behind her, clearly torn. The movement makes the collar of her shirt wrinkle up, and Calum thinks he spies a second soulmark peeking out from underneath. She turns back around in the next second before he can be certain.

“You’re Ashton’s boys,” she says.

Calum blinks at her, glancing over at Michael uncertainly then back at Ashley.

“Um—no?”

She laughs. It is a musical kind of laughter that does nothing to dispel the doubt welling up in Calum’s chest. He just knows she isn’t going to let them back to see Luke, but Calum really, really needs to see Luke. He needs to make good on his favor to Ashton. It is the least that he owes to the man who opened Calum’s own eyes up to the brand new name on his collarbone.

“You are, but it’s cute that you don’t know,” she says whenever her laughter dries up enough for her to speak. The smile remains behind as an echo of her laughter. “He didn’t know either until last night. He had a proper freak-out, let me just tell you. I got a call at, like, four-thirty this morning demanding that I come over to his place and look at his arms before work. Like, _excuse me_ , Ashton, but some people like their sleep.”

She pauses and looks at them expectantly, clearly looking for some type of response. The best Calum can do is a half-hearted snort, confused as he still is about what she is leading up to. If he were a little less perplexed, perhaps he might share with her that Ashton apparently has a habit of calling people during normal sleeping hours, as Ashton did the exact same thing to him and Michael only about an hour beforehand.

“Well, are neither of you going to ask?” she prods.

She sounds entirely too pleased by this conversation and all too willing to mold it to her own desire. Calum doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just let them see Luke right now. That is all that Calum wants. He doesn’t care for riddles that Ashley might like to throw around.

But Calum plays into her will and asks, “What was on Ashton’s arm?”

Ashley grins even wider.

“I’m glad you asked, _Calum_. It was your name,” she says, her eyes twinkling with the exuberant amount of amusement she is garnering from this conversation. She nods at Michael’s arm. “Looked exactly like that, except it was more of a ghost. You know, fainter, but, of course, touch-marks never fully settle until everybody is together.”

“I’m sorry—what are _touch-marks_?” asks Michael, his own fingers dancing along the script of Calum’s name.

Ashley reaches for the collar of her shirt and pulls it down her shoulder to reveal the rest of the soulmark Calum thought he had spied earlier. It matches the one on her hand, except it is a completely different name written in the same dark script. Calum’s breath catches in his throat. _It is impossible_ , but here Ashley is right before Calum, a physical anomaly—an impossibility: a person with more than one soulmate.

“Everybody gets their mark when they turn twenty-one, right?” asks Ashley, but it is such common knowledge that the question itself is obviously rhetorical. She smoothes her collar back out until it is laying properly around her neck. When she speaks, her voice is soft like she is recalling a bittersweet memory. “I met the person whose name is on my hand when I was twenty-three. She had been with her soulmate for four years by then, but her soulmate had my name on them. When we all came together for the first time—when we all held each other’s hands like we were playing a childhood game of Ring Around the Rosie—we all got our second marks. They started out light, like the one on Ashton’s arm, and then they darkened with all of us together.”

“Just like that?” asks Michael.

Ashley smiles ruefully at him.

“The marks? Yes. Everything else? It wasn’t quite so easy—but then again, true love hardly ever is.”

“People don’t have more than one soulmate,” says Calum, staring at the shoulder of her shirt where, underneath the fabric, the dark name imprinted into her skin suggests otherwise.

“Says the man who has more than one soulmark,” retorts Ashley.

It is a kind rebuke, though. She winces sympathetically when he meets her eyes, like she herself once struggled with Calum’s very dilemma—that the extra name on his skin is every bit as real as it feels and not some joke with a punch line just waiting to be dropped. Perhaps she did. She scratches across her marked shoulder as if, maybe, she is recalling her own experience with an impossible new thing.

“Look—it’s scary as hell, I know,” she goes on to say, glancing briefly at Michael but mostly resting her attention on Calum. “It’s even scarier when you consider what _settled_ soulmarks even mean. Like, right now, the touch-marks are sort of benign. They won’t tie you to the other person like soulmarks do. But once they’re settled—once everybody comes together—it’s a whole different ball game. It’s real soulmate love then, and there’s no turning back. It’s either everybody or nobody.”

“So, what you’re saying is that Michael isn’t my soulmate unless all of our touch-marks are settled?

Ashley’s gaze snaps to Michael, startled, as if the very mention of his name bears some kind of significance that Calum doesn’t understand. She looks Michael up and down again, a thoughtful grin working its way onto her face. Calum glances over his shoulder to meet Michael’s eyes. Michael shrugs at the questioning tilt of Calum’s head. They have spent their entire lives, practically, learning how to read each other. Michael is just as clueless as Calum himself feels.

“Ah, so, you’re the infamous Michael?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait for a conformation. Neither does she explain what is so allegedly infamous about him. In the next second, she answers Calum’s question. “If Michael’s name is only a touch-mark, then, no, he isn’t technically your soulmate yet. You can’t just pick and choose who your soulmates are.”  

 Calum chews on his bottom lip. He glances down at his wrist, where, underneath the bulky bracelet, Luke’s name rests. He has Michael’s name on his collarbone now. He shouldn’t need Luke’s name if Michael’s is imprinted in his skin. Life would be so much easier if he _could_ pick and choose his soulmate. He would pick Michael every single time, and then Ashton, too, could pick his roommate, and everybody would end up with who they wanted to.

“But what if you can? I mean, I _picked_ Michael, and we have been fine on our own,” says Calum, but even as he speaks, he can feel the ever-present _emptiness_ inside of him that the name _Luke_ promises to fill. Calum hates it. He hates that Michael isn’t enough. If Calum had it his way, Michael would always been enough.

Ashley sighs. She looked exceptionally more sorry for Calum than anybody else ever has. Calum drops his gaze to the floor. He shuffles his feet, and he feels like a lost little boy learning about soulmates for the very first time and wondering why the world works the way it does. Wondering why the universe allows people to reach great ages before it brings soulmates together. Or wondering why the universe allows some people to never, ever meet their soulmates. He has heard the horror stories. He has read online all about how there are people out there who woke up one day to find their soulmarks deathly white—to find that their soulmates had died—before they even got to meet each other. As a kid, he had been terrified of that happening.

But as an adult, he has spent more time terrified that the name on his wrist isn’t Michael. Calum knows—he can feel it in his very bones—that Michael is _it_ for him. He also knows, however, that the universe doesn’t work like that. Knows that the universe is getting a good laugh out of him anyhow by dangling the possibility of Michael being his soulmate but with the condition that Calum has to either share him or not have him at all.

Not for the first time since he turned twenty-one, Calum wishes he were one of the unlucky ones—that he might have never met his soulmate—because it was so much easier lying to himself that Michael was enough when Luke was nothing more than a forbidden name on his wrist.

“I thought I could pick, too, you know, but in the end, this soulmate thing won out,” says Ashley, soft and kind. “There’s a reason it exists, this whole system. I mean, the universe could just let us all flounder around with no guidance whatsoever as to who our soulmate might be. But it isn’t that cruel. We wake up on our twenty-first birthdays with these names inked into our skin so that we don’t have to ever worry about finding the fabled ‘right one’ all on our own. We’ve got a handy little guide to eternal happiness. So you’ve got a couple more soulmates than most people do. Maybe the universe is just being extra nice to you.”

Ashley’s words feel like a slap in the face—like something that Calum himself should have realized a long, long time ago. It makes sense, what Ashley says, but he has never, ever thought of the soulmate system in such a way before. Maybe it would have saved him a lot of inner turmoil over the past few months if he had been so optimistic. It is kind of hard, though, to think the best of something that is broken—of something that allowed Calum to go to sleep the night before his twenty-first birthday expecting to see Michael’s name imprinted somewhere in his skin only to wake up the next morning to find Luke’s name instead.

But maybe the system isn’t so broken. Michael has Calum’s name, and now, Calum has the faintest outline of Michael’s that can darken if Calum accepts the condition of sharing Michael with Luke. The decision itself, from Calum’s end, isn’t even difficult. When it comes to choosing Michael, Calum will every single time, damn the consequences.

“I’ve spent the past six months swearing up and down that the universe hates me, so thank you for showing me that, maybe, it doesn’t,” he says, because he owes her such gratitude.

He feels Michael step up closer behind him, eager for Calum’s proximity once more. Calum blindly reaches for Michael’s hand, and Michael meets him halfway. Calum smiles over his shoulder at Michael, happy to again be holding Michael’s hand. _Love_ flares in the faint mark on Calum’s collarbone, and Calum wonders if this will happen every single time he and Michael touch for now on. He sure hopes that is the case. He likes the reminder that Michael belongs to him as much as he belongs to Michael.

The responding smile on Michael’s face seems to be an extension of the one that has been almost ever-present since the moment he laid eyes on his name in beautiful script on Calum’s collarbone. Calum thinks he could spend the rest of forever basking in Michael’s happiness, but he owes Ashton a favor. He needs to speak to Luke. To do that, he has to convince Ashley to let him and Michael into the back where, presumably, Luke is working, so after a beat, Calum tears his gaze from Michael. He turns back to Ashley, intent to ask about Luke once more, but something else pops into his mind. There is one last thing he needs correct her on.

“But, you know, technically, I’ve only got one more soulmate than most people do.”

Ashley belts out another musical laugh. The corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement. She reaches across the counter to pat Calum’s empty hand.

“Oh, it’s cute that you don’t know,” she says, repeating her words from earlier with the same amount of mirth. She straightens back up before Calum has a chance to say anything in response. She doesn’t bother explaining her statement this time. She jabs a thumb over her shoulder instead. “Luke is in the back.  Don’t touch anything, okay? The manager doesn’t like it when people other than employees go back there, but I think the three of you really need to talk.”

Yeah, they do, which is why Calum and Michael came to the café in the first place. Calum doesn’t bother telling Ashley that, because she already knows. He suspects she has been expecting him and Michael show up at the café even before Calum and Michael themselves decided to go. It doesn’t really matter anyway. She is granting Calum an opportunity to speak with Luke, which is what Ashton had asked of Calum, and that is all Calum really needs from Ashley.

When Ashley steps back from the register to hold open the door to the back for them, Calum steps around the counter without saying a word. He drags Michael with him, because this isn’t something that he is strong enough to do alone: face Luke and show him the name on Calum’s wrist. Calum needs Michael for that. He always needs Michael, of course, but, for this, he needs Michael’s support most of all.

As they walk past Ashley, Calum catches sight of the tiny word beneath her name on her tag. It reads _manager_. He chuckles once to himself, looking up to meet her eyes. She winks, cheekily, then leaves Calum and Michael on their own in the back. If all goes well—if this all ends up with Michael’s name darkened into a true soulmark in Calum’s skin—Calum figures he owes Ashley an extra large tip the next time he stops in here with Brian before practice.

The back room Calum and Michael first step into is a small space. There is a fully functioning kitchen to the right, where all of the pastries are made and baked daily. On the left is a door that leads into an office and another one that leads to a storage room. It is in there that Calum spots Luke, heaving bags of coffee beans onto the third shelf from the floor.

Calum hesitates in the doorway. He is pretty sure if it were not for Michael’s hand in his, he would have already bailed, even considering his favor to Ashton. Calum doesn’t. Michael’s grip on his hand—the flare of _love_ on Calum’s collarbone—keeps Calum rooted to the spot. In the next second, the option to run is eliminated anyway. Luke finally wrestles the bag of coffee beans onto the shelf. When he turns around to pick up another, he catches sight of Calum and Michael standing in the doorway. He freezes.

“You’re not supposed to be in here,” he says. His gaze flashes down to Michael and Calum’s clasped hands. He frowns. When he looks back up to meet Calum’s eyes, Calum sees recognition flare up in them. “I don’t want to have to clean up another one of your messes.”

Calum winces.

“Stupendous first impression, yeah?” he mumbles, his face flushing again.

He drops his gaze to his feet, feeling small in the presence of Luke, his actual _soulmate_. He thinks about the touch-mark on his shoulder and about Ashley’s insight to the impossibility of the whole thing, and he thinks that, maybe, he can’t do this after all. There is so much that could go wrong. No matter how much Calum wants Michael’s name to darken in his skin, it won’t unless Luke is open to the idea of numerous soulmates, too. Because the three of them, they have to be in this together or not at all.

As if sensing the direction of Calum’s thoughts, Michael squeezes his hand to remind Calum that he is there, that Calum’s name is in Michael’s skin no matter the outcome here with Luke, and that Michael will always, hands-down, pick Calum. Period. Calum draws in a readying breath. He finds the strength through Michael’s steady hold to look back up at the man whose name is on his wrist.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, because he really is. He had not meant to make such a mess, much less to leave one for Luke to clean up. It is just that the shock of meeting _Luke_ had short-circuited every rational thought in Calum’s brain, and all that Calum could think about was how he needed to get the hell out of the café _right then_ and back to Michael where he belonged.

Luke furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He glances at Michael then back at Calum. He shuffles closer to the bag of coffee beans next to him. He waves toward the door, clearly dismissive. Ashton hadn’t been exaggerating when he had said Luke was in bad spirits. The proof in right there before them in the downtrodden set of Luke’s shoulders and in how it seems to take Luke a monumental amount of effort to do the simplest of things such as shoo both Calum and Michael out and how the corners of Luke’s lips seem to be permanently turned downward.

Calum’s heart skips a beat in his chest. It is painful, seeing Luke look so distressed, and Calum has only ever met Luke once before. Hell, Calum has hated Luke just because it was his name and not Michael’s on Calum’s wrist, and yet Calum feels the overwhelming urge to cross the tiny storage room right now and draw Luke into the biggest hug he can manage. He doesn’t, though, but mainly because Luke speaks up, and Luke doesn’t sound like he is in any mood for a hug, especially one from a stranger such as Calum who so rudely left behind a mess for Luke to clean up the last time they met.

“Okay. Is that all you wanted? To apologize? Because I’ve got a lot of work left to do, so if you don’t mind…”

But Calum didn’t come this far just to be turned away now. He still owes Ashton the biggest favor in the entire world. He leads off with the only trump card he is holding in his hand. He prays it is enough.

“Actually, Ashton sent me.”

Luke tenses, glaring up at Calum. He is probably meaning to look mean and scary in an effort to tell them to _fuck off_ , but Calum sees right through it. Ashton’s name does things to Luke. It is almost comical that the merest mention of Luke’s name does the same exact things to Ashton. The corners of Luke’s mouth threaten to tug into a smile. Luke ducks his head ever-so-slightly, a soft blush coloring his cheeks, like he can hardly contain himself.

It is endearing in all the ways true love is, how gone Luke is for Ashton. It is obvious right here, right now that Luke is as head-over-heels in love with Ashton as much as Ashton is with him. It is there in Luke’s eyes, in the unwavering adoration that shines in them at the first mention of Ashton’s name. It is there in the rigidness of Luke’s body. It is there in the way his hands tremble ever-so-slightly at his sides.

But Luke has his pride. Somehow, Calum isn’t surprised.

“Ashton needs to mind his own damn business,” snaps Luke, and he turns back to the coffee beans, clearly ready for Calum and Michael to leave.

They don’t. They are here for a purpose. Calum remembers the strain in Ashton’s voice as he pleaded with Calum to talk to Luke, and even in his memory, it tugs at Calum’s heartstrings. Calum can’t leave until he tells Luke the truth, because, even beyond any favors Calum owes to Ashton, Luke deserves to know that his name is permanently stained into Calum’s skin.

Calum chews on his bottom lip. He glances over at Michael, because he has to. Because he needs some sort of sign from Michael that he isn’t alone. Michael, of course, gives it immediately and nods in an encouraging manner that erases all of the doubts plaguing Calum’s mind about whether or not he can do this. Michael has always been Calum’s corner, and he doesn’t seem to have any difficulty reassuring Calum even when they’re face-to-face with the man whose name is on Calum’s wrist—with the man who belongs to Calum more than Michael himself ever has.

If Michael can be so supportive of Calum despite the fact that they are here to point out that Michael isn’t Calum’s, not really in the true sense that Luke is Calum’s, then Calum can be brave enough to tell Luke the truth that Luke deserves.

Calum draws in a breath, lets it out, then turns to Luke. He hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, deliberating over the best way to broach the subject. In the end, he goes for a blunt delivery, because Luke doesn’t seem like he is in the mood for any coddling. Rather, Luke seems inclined to resort to a more head-on approach to kicking Calum and Michael out, so Calum needs to get to the point fast.

“Ashton said that you thought nobody had your name on them.”

Luke glares at Calum again, his entire body settling into a defensive posture. If not for the absolute betrayal shining in Luke’s eyes—for the devastation undercutting his anger—Luke would seem threatening. He doesn’t. He just looks like a terrified wild animal backed into a corner. Calum’s heart twists in his chest. His knees nearly buckle at how _vulnerable_ Luke looks. He hates it. He hates it like he would if it were Michael.

“Look, if you’re here in some kind of misguided attempt to tell me that everybody’s got their soulmate out there, and that you’re living proof with yours, you can fuck off,” says Luke. He tries to sound angry and mean. He doesn’t. He sounds defeated, much like Ashton had sounded earlier on the phone. “You might have had an easy go at finding your soulmate, but I won’t. My soulmate? I’m not his, because he doesn’t have my name on him.”

What is left of Calum’s already fractured heart shatters in his chest at the note of self-hatred loud and apparent in Luke’s voice. He wants again to gather Luke up in his arms and promise to protect him from all of the bad things in the world, because Luke shouldn’t hate himself. Luke is beautiful. He is funny and charming, and for the first time since Calum woke up on the morning of his twenty-first birthday, he is glad that the name on his wrist is Luke.

Vaguely, Calum wonders if this is how Michael feels about him—if this is how everybody feels about the name imprinted into their skins.

It is this newfound desire coursing through his veins to give Luke the world that gives Calum the last ounce of courage he needs. He steps forward, letting go of Michael to move closer to Luke. He thinks that maybe he should feel like he is crossing over into enemy territory, choosing Luke over Michael even though he has sworn up and down a thousand times that he would never, ever choose anybody over Michael. It doesn’t feel like that at all. Michael’s name is still faint on Calum’s collarbone. Calum thinks of what Ashley had said earlier, and he entertains the idea that he isn’t choosing sides. Not really. Not when his heart belongs so wholly to Michael but the desire to Luke is brand new and welcomed in his veins.

Calum stops right in front of Luke, an arm’s length away. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, he reaches for the clasp of the bracelet that he hasn’t taken off since the day he put it on. He closes his eyes as he lets the bracelet fall to the floor. He can’t bring himself to watch as the realization dawns upon Luke. It is hard enough to listen to Luke’s surprised gasp.

The thing is that Calum has imagined this moment hundreds of times over the past six months. He has dreamed up dozens of different scenarios of this right here: of Calum meeting Luke and finally letting somebody other than Michael see the four-letters inked into his skin. Never, though, has Calum pictured it playing out like this. Like Michael standing in the background watching everything unfold. Like Luke hesitantly reaching forward to hover his fingers above the letters of his name, so close that he’s nearly touching Calum’s skin. Like Calum himself feeling that this is the right thing to do, feeling like he isn’t cheating on Michael because Michael’s name is in Calum’s skin where it belongs now, however faint, and Calum can’t cheat on his soulmate with another soulmate. He can’t.

“Michael has my name, but I don’t have his,” says Calum, unnecessarily.

He doesn’t bother with correcting the inaccuracies of his statement at the moment. It is important that Luke understands that Calum knows first-hand what it is like to wish somebody was his soulmate who wasn’t. When, after a moment, Calum feels brave enough open his eyes again, he sees that Luke is staring at the name on Calum’s wrist with every bit of awe that Calum himself feels whenever he sees his own name stretched across Michael’s arm.

“You can touch it, you know. It’s, uh, yours after all.”

Still, Luke hesitates. He withdraws his hand and places it in his pocket instead, leaving his thumb out to press against into his own hip through the fabric of his trousers. He glances over Calum’s shoulder then to look at Michael. His gaze drops to Michael’s forearm where Calum’s name is proudly displayed for the entire world to see. The ghost of a grimace plays across Luke’s face. Curiosity shines bright in his eyes.

“How do you do it?” he asks, speaking softly to Michael. He glances down at his own hip where, possibly, his own soulmark rests. “How do you live everyday knowing that your soulmate’s name isn’t yours?”

Calum turns to face Michael as well, because he, too, is curious of the answer. Michael never talks about Calum’s mark. He never lets on as if Calum’s mark is any big deal to him, though Calum knows that it has to hurt. Knows that it has to kill Michael a little bit every time he is reminded that Calum doesn’t have his name. It is different right now, Calum knows, because Michael’s name is finally on Calum’s collarbone, but there was a time when Michael’s name wasn’t there. When Luke’s struggle right now is the same one Michael faced every day for nearly six months.

“I loved him anyway,” answers Michael. He smiles fondly at Calum like he always does, and when he turns to Luke, the smile doesn’t fade. “I didn’t need my name on his skin to validate how much I loved him. How much I still love him.”

“But he had a soulmate out there. What if he left you for them? You know, for me?”

“Well, then you would probably need to get used to me being around,” says Michael, laughing. He sobers in the next minute. “I love Calum with everything that I am, and that isn’t going to change if he chooses to love you instead. I’m not going to cut him out of my life. I’d chase him to the end of the world and back if I had to just to stay a part of his life. Just to make sure he’s happy. That’s all I really want in the grander scheme of things, you know. Just Calum happy, and if that isn’t because of me—well, I mean, it’s a big blow to my ego, but I’d, you know, want him to be happy with you.”

Luke is quiet for a moment, processing Michaels statement. When he speaks again, he sounds as overwhelmed by Michael’s dedication to Calum as Calum himself feels.

“Isn’t that scary? To love somebody so much only to lose them in the end?”

“Who says I’m going to lose him?” teases Michael, but he hears the real question Luke has in mind: _what if Luke’s soulmate isn’t like Calum? What if Luke’s soulmate wants his own soulmate instead of him?_ Michael sighs. His voice becomes somber. “It’s fucking terrifying, honestly, but I’ve found that it’s a whole lot less scary taking things one day at a time.”

Luke nods at that, taking it all in. He looks back at Calum and allows his gaze to drift down to Calum’s wrist where his name is dark and prominent against Calum’s brown skin. Calum feels bare underneath Luke’s gaze. He isn’t used to people looking at his soulmark. It isn’t even something that Michael ever does, so Calum has the urge to hide it away, but he doesn’t. The mark belongs to Luke as much as it does to Calum, and as scary as that is, Calum knows that Luke needs to see it. He knows that Luke needs to know that it is _real_.

Michael steps up behind Calum, eager for proximity as he always is. He wraps himself around Calum’s body, clasping his hands together on top of Calum’s stomach and resting his chin on Calum’s shoulder. Calum immediately sinks back into Michael. He feels less vulnerable in Michael’s arms. He always feels safer wrapped up in Michael.

“We’re not going to leave you out, you know,” says Michael quietly.

Calum hums his acquiesce before he even comprehends Michael’s words, but he realizes right then that Luke is a part of him and Michael. Maybe he has known it all along. Maybe that is what has been so scary about Calum waking up the morning of his twenty-first birthday expecting to find Michael’s name but finding that of a stranger instead. Calum has psyched himself up for two whole months of being one of the lucky ones, of not having to search for soulmate, because Michael was right here already. Then he found out that he wasn’t one of the lucky ones, that he would have to learn to love somebody as much as he loves Michael, and at the time, that seemed impossible. Calum could never, ever feel for anybody half of what he does for Michael.

But standing here in the tiny storage room an arm’s length away from Luke, Calum thinks he can love Luke just as much after all.

“Yeah,” says Calum. “I mean, you’ve got Michael’s name, haven’t you? We can make it work, the three of us—if you want.”

Luke laughs then, shaking his head like he knows the punch line to a joke and the other two don’t. Calum feels a spike of confusion. He glances at Michael to see if maybe Michael understands what Luke is laughing at any more than Calum does. The bewildered expression on Michael’s face suggests he doesn’t know what is humorous either. That doesn’t matter, though, because Luke erases their confusion in the next moment.

“Oh, I don’t have Michael’s name.”

Calum’s stomachs hits the floor. Anxiety builds in his chest. He had been so, so certain that Luke _had_ to have Michael’s name, because _somebody_ out there in the world has to have it. Michael tenses around him, similarly devastated, and Luke grins at the pair of them. It takes Calum an entire minute to find his voice.

“You don’t?”

“Nope,” Luke says, and he waits a beat before adding, “but Michael is the reason I know my soulmate doesn’t have my name.”

Everything all falls into place right then. Calum feels like he has been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. He wonders how he hasn’t noticed it all this time—how easily he fell in with Ashton and, prior to knowing his name, with Luke. How the guilt that he had felt finding Luke or Ashton attractive or funny or endearing had faded into nothingness when he realized how much Luke and Ashton reminded him of Michael.

He wonders how he could have possible missed how _right_ it felt to be with Michael and with Ashton and with Luke. And how much better it had felt at the concert when Calum had both Michael and Ashton right there, but there was still a tinge of emptiness between them, like they were missing a part of themselves. Because they _were_ —missing a part of themselves, that is.

Right now, standing in the tiny storage room of the café with Luke and Michael both within reach, they’re still not complete.

“Ashton,” breathes Calum.

He isn’t looking for a confirmation, but Luke gives him one all the same with a single nod of his head. Calum thinks about Ashton’s phone call this morning, about how Ashton knew Calum had Michael’s name _on his collarbone_. He thinks about how Ashton must have known right when Calum introduced the two of them that Calum’s precious Michael is Ashton’s own soulmate. He thinks about Ashton calling Ashley up in the middle of the night freaking out over touchmarks. Ashton must know then. He must know that they’re all four destined to be together.

But Ashton must have also realized that Calum needed to find this out all on his own, that Calum wouldn’t believe it unless he put the pieces together just like Ashton himself had.

“He’s your soulmate, I take it?” ventures Michael, needing verbal confirmation—or perhaps sensing that Luke needs to give it.

The grin fades from Luke’s face. He glances down at his name on Calum’s wrist again before he forces himself to look Michael in the eye. He sighs. His thumb brushes across his hip once again.

“Yeah. Proper freaked out when I turned twenty-one and found his name on my hip. It was impossible.”

“I’m starting to think that nothing is impossible as far as soulmates go,” says Calum. “I guess that means we need Ashton now.”

Luke smiles wryly at Calum. He raises the hem of his shirt up just far enough that both Calum and Michael can spy the beginning ‘Ash’ of Ashton’s name inked into the pale skin of Luke’s hip. Calum reaches for the tail of his own shirt. He already knows what he is going to find, but he has to look anyway. He smiles to hismelf when he spots the same, fainter name staining the exact same spot in his skin. Michael mirrors Calum’s movements to check his own hip just to make sure the universe isn’t playing some sick joke on the four of them—taunting them with everything of their wildest dreams without any intention of following through with the gift. A second later, Michael grins up at Calum then at Luke.

It is official. This is no joke. They are all soulmates.

“I think we’ve _always_ needed Ashton,” quips Luke.

Michael laughs then, and Calum does, too, and Calum thinks, _yeah, we have probably always needed Ashton._

 

Getting Ashton, however, proves to be something they have to wait on. Or, rather, getting all four of them together is something that can’t happen until Luke gets off work. So Michael and Calum leave Luke to his job to go back home alone and catch some sleep that Ashton had robbed them of earlier. Luke sends them on their way with freshly baked croissants, two large hot chocolates, and a scrap of paper with his and Ashton’s address on it.

“Listen, I’m sorry about back there,” says Michael, quietly when he curls up on the couch with Calum. He lays his head on Calum’s shoulder, and it is Calum’s favorite thing in the entire world—to have Michael in his arms. It feels even better now with Michael’s face pressed against the faint soulmark on Calum’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean to just say that to Luke not leaving him out without consulting with you first, but he just looked so—he looked like…”

“Like he needed us?” finishes Calum.

Michael sighs. He reaches for Calum’s hand, but he doesn’t thread their fingers together. He runs his thumb along Calum’s soulmark instead, tracing along the letters of Luke’s name. Calum shivers at the unfamiliar sensation. He doesn’t pull away, not like he would have before he realized that Michael’s name, too, was inked into his skin. Michael stills, his thumb resting over the ‘e,’ and he looks up at Calum.

“I know what it feels like to love somebody who doesn’t have my name on their body. Don’t apologize—it isn’t your fault,” he rushes to say when Calum tenses under him. “I just mean that I understand what Luke has been struggling with, and I knew he was _your_ soulmate, and that made him important to you, so he was important to me, too. I couldn’t stand to see him hurting. I knew it was hurting you, too, even if you didn’t want to admit it.”

Calum drops his gaze to the bed, unable to look Michael in the eyes any longer. He chews on his bottom lip. He draws in a trembling, troublesome breath.

“I didn’t want him to be important to me,” he admits. He thinks about how _vulnerable_ Luke had looked earlier, and he feels a thousand times guiltier for saying it out loud than he ever has thinking it. But this is Michael. He doesn’t have any secrets from Michael. “I love _you_ , mark or no mark. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I didn’t want you to ever feel like you weren’t enough for me. You are. You’re worth more to me than anything in the entire world.”

Michael sits up then to hover over Calum. His face is so close that his breath puffs warm against Calum’s lip. Calum can’t help but to look at Michael now. There isn’t anywhere else to look. When Calum finally brings himself to meet Michael’s gaze once again, Michael’s eyes are wide and brimming with so much love that Calum’s toes curl.

“You’re my entire life, Calum. You have been ever since we met. When you got Luke’s name instead of mine, I’ll admit, it hurt. I didn’t sleep much in those few weeks, because, yeah, you promised to love me forever, but this Luke guy had to be pretty damn amazing to show up on your skin. He had to be perfect for you, and I was terrified that you would meet him, and you would see that, and you would leave me.”

“I’d never,” says Calum, because it is the truth. It is what had happened. He had met Luke, and he had run the other way, right back into Michael’s arms where he belonged.

“I know that now, and I think I knew it then, too,” admits Michael with a small, loving smile, one that Calum knows is for him and only for him. “For a while, though, I felt like I was living on borrowed time, if you want me to be honest, but then, well, you met him—Luke—and you came back to me. I know how much that hurt you to meet him and to know he was real, and I realized that day that I couldn’t make you choose if it came down to it. I meant what I told Luke earlier. I’d follow you to the end of the world if you wanted me to. I’ll do anything you want me to do as long as you are happy in the end.”

Calum leans forward to press their foreheads together. His lower lip trembles. The sincerity glinting in Michael’s eyes makes Calum’s heart pound like a kick drum in his chest. He wants to kiss Michael silly right now. He doesn’t.

Instead, he says, “You make me happy.”

“But maybe Luke and Ashton can, too,” says Michael, quiet and soft.

“Yeah,” agrees Calum. He thinks of the name on his own wrist and of what Luke had said about Ashton’s soulmate earlier. “It feels like the world just got a whole lot bigger. It’s not just us anymore.”

“Maybe it never was,” says Michael. He glances briefly at his name faint on Calum’s collarbone. When he speaks again, his voice is even softer. “I mean, we’ve always been soulmates, right?”

“You know what Ashley said,” says Calum. “Our marks won’t settle unless all of us touch. I won’t—I won’t do it unless you want to, too. You’re enough for me. I love you, remember? Mark or no mark.”

“Mark or no mark,” Michael repeats. He meets Calum’s eyes again. The air is thick between them. Michael leans even closer so that when he speaks, their lips brush together. “Loving somebody else doesn’t  mean you love me any less.”

“I don’t even know if I love Luke. He is just a name on my arm.”

“He isn’t,” says Michael. “You will love him and Ashton, too. Let’s do this.”

Calum’s breath catches in his throat.

“Really?”

Michael laughs.

“We’re soulmates, right? The four of us? We can make it work.”

“Your name will forever be in my skin.”

 “It already looks like it’s been there all along,” breathes Michael.

“It feels like it has been too—this entire time,” admits Calum, and he can’t hold back any longer. He surges forward to bridge the tiny gap between his and Michael’s lips, and he captures them in a kiss. It tastes like a new beginning.

They don’t bother with talking any more. Michael’s lips feel like a promise against Calum’s, and it is a promise that Calum will forever treasure. Michael is his soulmate. Mark or no mark—only now, Calum is going to make sure he has Michael’s mark forever.

 

Hours later, around noon, a message from an unknown number arrives on Calum’s phone. It reads _Come over. Ashton is smothering me. I’m hiding out in my room until I get back up. I can’t do this alone._

Calum laughs as he saves the number under the brand new contact _Luke_.

 

Luke’s threat of hiding out in his room apparently doesn’t apply to answering the front door when Michael knocks on it. Luke has changed into his work uniform and into a pair of shorts with a cut-off t-shirt that hangs loosely off his torso. He looks frazzled and all too happy to see the both of them, reaching forward immediately to drag them in by Calum’s wrist. Michael stumbles in as well, wrapped as he is around Calum.

Luke’s thumb graces across Calum’s soulmark, naked for once without the bulky bracelet covering it. Calum hadn’t seen much of a reason to put it back on now that Michael’s name is etched into the skin of his collarbone, and Calum himself has finally come to terms with the fact that Luke is his soulmate. That Calum can still have Michael even though Luke is his soulmate. That Calum doesn’t have to choose. It is a freeing thought.

Luke’s touch sends a jolt of _intimacy_ straight up Calum’s arm. Calum jumps, not used to the sensation, and Luke, too, looks unbelievably surprised by the contact. Luke glances down at his own arm, freezing instantly at the sight. Calum rushes to look, too. The name _Calum_ fades into his skin, settling nicely as if it was always meant to be there.

“Is that—Is that a thing that normally happens?” he asks, glancing wide-eyed up at Calum and Michael.

“I think so,” says Calum. His name is faint on Luke’s arm like Michael’s name is on Calum’s own collarbone. “I found Mikey’s name on me this morning after Ashton told me to look. There’s no telling how long it’s been there.”

“Since you met me, I think,” says Ashton, appearing in the kitchen behind Luke. He smiles wryly at them all. He rests his attention on Calum. “I see you, uh, heeded my request.”

His hair is a mess of curls on top of his head, a product of his nervous habit of running his hands through it whenever  he is feeling even anxious. The smile on his face, though, is soft and calm. He is shirtless, and Calum sees the dark ink of Michael’s name stretched across Ashton’s collarbone. It looks beautiful soaked into the skin. It is much more prominent than the one that Calum has on his own collarbone, but the marks on Ashton’s arm—Calum’s name scrawled across his right forearm and Luke’s name staining his left wrist—are faint like the touch-marks pressed into Calum’s own skin.

“You could have just told me what this was all about instead of just sending me off on a wild goose chase. I really thought you were going to make me break Luke’s heart,” admonishes Calum, but he knows that it couldn’t have been that simple. Soulmates never are. Calum—and Michael and Luke—had to find out for himself exactly what Ashton had. Ashton couldn’t just tell them.

Thankfully, Ashton doesn’t take offense to Calum’s admonition. He merely laughs it off, like he had been expecting such a statement. He doesn’t comment on the fact that he knows Calum could have never broken Luke’s heart or that he knew things were going to work out in the end or that it wasn’t even a risky gamble. Instead, Ashton waves toward the living room, ever the practical one.

“We should probably talk now that, well, we’ve all got each other’s marks, shouldn’t we? You know, before we do something stupid like settle our marks without having an adult conversation.”

“We’ve already had an adult conversation,” says Luke, nodding toward Calum and Michael. His tone skirts toward teasing. He impishly grins at Ashton, and Ashton is momentarily powerless underneath his gaze. “You know, during Cal’s wild goose chase.”

Ashton rolls his eyes, clearly unwaveringly fond of Luke. Michael barks out a laugh, stepping around Calum to throw his arm around Luke’s shoulders and draw Luke nearer to him. Luke’s name whirls like smoke in Michael’s skin, tracing the four letters until they’re faintly embedded in his wrist. Michael smiles, briefly, around Luke at it before he shifts his attention to Ashton. He grins devilishly, echoing Luke’s cheekiness. The two of them are a perfect match. Now, they have marks to show it.

“I like him. Seriously, Ash, you shouldn’t have hidden him away for so long.”

Ashton’s eyes widen, alarmed. He seems to have spent the past several hours planning out every step of their impending adult conversation, but he must have forgotten to account the curveball that is Michael in the flesh or, perhaps, that was Michael and Luke combined, as Ashton turns helplessly to Calum.

For his part, Calum has to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from laughing at Ashton’s distress. It would not be nice for them all to gang up on Ashton, who wasn’t in the storage room of the café when the others came to terms with the fact that they were all soulmates. Ashton, unlike the rest of them, had to find out on his own and has had to worry over it all by himself. This whole thing couldn’t have been easy for him.

Calum steps forward and offers his hand to Ashton, a small, comforting smile on his lips. Ashton take Calum’s hand immediately, desperate for the comfort of another. His fingers are so much longer than Michael’s, which Calum already knew, but they feel just as right tangled with Calum’s own. Calum offers Ashton a reassuring smile.

“We talked to Ashley. She told us some things—probably the same things she told you. We know it’s scary, but we’re all willing to commit to this,” says Calum, soft and gentle. The moment feels heavy with importance, thick with the precarious promise of _forever_. Ashton’s grip on Calum’s hand is crushing. Calum thinks about jumping the gun and reaching for Michael to link all four of them, because he knows in his soul that they all belong together. He doesn’t. “Settling our marks would be anything but stupid.”

“We still need to talk,” says Ashton, stubbornly.

There is a glint of _something_ in his eyes that Calum can’t identify. It is worrying and perhaps the only reason Calum  doesn’t immediately reach back for Michael to settle all of their marks right then and there. The decision to settle their marks has to be unanimous. Calum can’t take that away from Ashton, no matter how much he can wants them all together—no matter how much Calum knows Michael and Luke do, too.

“All right,” says Calum. He glances his shoulder at Michael then at Luke before he turns back to Ashton. “Let’s talk.”

Ashton nods, satisfied, but the glint in his eyes remains. Calum wishes he knew how to make it go away. He doesn’t. All he knows to do is to tug Ashton toward the living room and hope that Michael and Luke follow. Of course, they do. Michael would follow Calum anywhere, and he is still wrapped around Luke, so he drags an unresisting Luke with him.

In the living room, Ashton lets go of Calum so that he can sit all alone on the recliner. Calum bites his bottom lip and considers plopping down on the arm of the chair just so that Ashton won’t have to be by himself. Ashton looks so small and vulnerable in his solitude. When Ashton meets Calum’s eyes, however, Ashton nods toward the couch where Michael and Luke are already seated. Calum sighs. He lets Ashton have his wish, because it must be important to Ashton, being alone facing the others, and Calum can respect that.

Calum sits down in the empty spot between Michael and Luke on the couch instead. For a moment, nobody says anything, not even Ashton who had been the one who wanted to talk. Calum, for his part, doesn’t really know where to start. All he knows is that he feels more _complete_ right now than he ever has in his entire life. It is a type of completeness that Calum thinks he can get used to for the rest of his life. He reaches for Michael’s hand and, because it feels like right thing to do, for Luke’s too. Luke’s hand is slimmer than Michael’s, but it still feels just as perfect.

“So,” says Michael, breaking the silence that has settled over them. He glances down at Calum’s and Luke’s hands. He smiles, fond and loving, before he looks up at Ashton, who is staring at the trio of them on the couch. “We’re all soulmates, apparently?”

“Apparently,” parrots Ashton. He, too, is looking at Calum’s and Luke’s clasped hands. He looks up to meet Michael’s eyes, and a glint of disbelief shines vulnerable in his eyes. “Except we’re not—I mean, not _yet_ , at least.”

“You say that as if we won’t ever be,” says Luke. “You have Michael’s name, and I have yours. What part of that makes you think we aren’t already soulmates?”

His free hand goes toward his hip. Ashton’s eyes follow it’s movement, and they widen with realization, a bright blush tickling his cheeks. It is a breath-taking sight, seeing the amazement written clear across Ashton’s face as Ashton realize that the man he has been in love with for years actually does have Ashton’s own name imprinted into his skin.

The amazement, though, is gone in the next second as Luke’s words stretch out into the space between them. Ashton averts his gaze to the coffee table that stands between them like a battle line as if he can’t handle looking Luke in the eyes. Maybe he can’t. Luke is looking at Ashton like Michael looks at Calum—like everything good and precious in the world begins and ends with him. It is a beautiful thing to witness, and Calum wishes that, one day, Luke will look at him and Michael like that, too.

Or maybe Ashton can’t look Luke in the eyes, because he knows his next words might break Luke’s heart, and that is the last thing that Ashton ever wants to do, especially now that Ashton knows with certainty that he can _have_ Luke in the way he has always desired him. But Ashton forces himself to say them, because someone needs to. If they don’t now, they never will. Then five, ten, maybe even fifteen years down the road, one of them might realize that it isn’t worth it, that this is harder than it should be, and that this can’t work out with all of them, and then they’ll all be broken-hearted. They’ve all heard the horror stories of soulmate pairs who don’t make it despite having each others’ names imprinted on their bodies.

“It’s a big thing, you know, to commit to more than one person.”

It is then that Calum finally recognizes the mysterious glint in Ashton’s eyes for what it is: insecurity. It is that type of insecurity that can only stem from something as staggeringly important as soulmate love and the crushing fear that one isn’t worth of it. Calum thinks of the accusation in Ashton’s eyes that night at the concert when Calum introduced his boyfriend as _Michael_ —the name that was, unbeknownst to Calum, inked into Ashton’s collarbone.

Calum knows it had to hurt Ashton more than anything else had in his entire life. It had to hurt to find out that his soulmate was Calum’s boyfriend Michael, and Ashton knew how much Calum loved Michael, but, more importantly, Ashton also knew that his name wasn’t inked in Michael’s skin. Ashton wasn’t worthy of his soulmate’s love. Worse, though, Ashton didn’t have somebody like Calum did—he didn’t have someone like Michael—promising to love him, mark or no mark.

The awful realization slams right into Calum, makes his stomach freefall to the floor. He draws in a ragged breath. He doesn’t know how to comfort Ashton except by convincing Ashton that it is okay. That there are some things scarier than committing to more than one person.

So Calum asks, his voice quiet and gentle, “Is it really any bigger than somebody having to choose to live without their actual soulmate?”

No matter what, if they split—if they decide settling their marks isn’t worth all of the hard work that will have to go into such a complex relationship—two of them are going to be without their soulmates.

Forever.

Calum thinks about Luke, about how protective he had felt over Luke even when he tried to lie to himself that he hated Luke, and he doesn’t think that will ever go away. Then he thinks of Ashton, about how, even though Ashton loves Luke with his entire being, he had been so excited, _so eager_ , to meet Michael. Calum doesn’t like the idea of Ashton missing out on Michael any more than Calum likes the idea of missing out on Luke. Calum certainly won’t live without Michael, either, so, for him, this whole soulmate business has to be for all of them.

“It’s not that simple,” says Ashton.

“Isn’t it?” asks Calum. He glances at Luke and Michael. He thinks about what Ashley had told him about the universe being a little nicer to them all than to the average person. It would be a shame to just throw this wonderful opportunity back in the universe’s face after it has been so, so kind to them to give them an opportunity to have everything they want and more. “Stop me right now if you don’t agree, but I think this is a blessing. Do you know how long I’ve wished I had Michael’s name? Do you know how long I have spent hating the system for being so fucking cruel as to give him my name but not give me his?”

“You can still have Michael without us,” says Ashton as if that is the only thing Calum might care about.

It hurts that Ashton might think that. Calum recoils, falling farther back in the couch and creating more space between him and Ashton that shouldn’t exist. Ashton winces like he only now realizes the brunt of his words, but he doesn’t attempt to take them back.

“But don’t you want him? He’s your soulmate, too,” says Luke before Calum has a chance to. Luke looks down at his name on Calum’s wrist. “I’ve spent the past year knowing that I’ll have to share you with Michael, and I woke up with your name on my hip, and I still knew that I was going to share you with Michael. Why is that any different now?”

“Soulmates aren’t easy,” says Ashton, avoiding the core of Luke’s question. The words fall well-practiced from his tongue like this isn’t the first time he has uttered them. Perhaps they’re not. Perhaps he had repeated them over and over and over again to Ashley early this morning until he had to believe in them.

“No, they’re not,” agrees Michael. His thumb brushes across Luke’s name on Calum’s wrist. The whole soulmate system had stopped being easy for him the day Calum woke up with Luke’s name instead of Michael’s. “But, you know, they’re worth it. They’re worth everything.”

Ashton sighs. He balls his hands into fists and places them in his lap, but Calum can see from all the way across the room how they tremble. It must be with fear, because when Ashton opens his mouth—probably to somehow argue against Michael’s statement—his lower lip wobbles, too. Whatever it is Ashton plans to say, he isn’t given the opportunity to do so.

“What are you afraid of?” asks Michael, sitting forward.

The living room is small enough that, if Michael and Ashton were to both reach out for one another, they could easily touch each other. Neither one moves. Michael waits for Ashton to answer, but he never does. Ashton merely bites his lips together and averts his gaze back to the coffee table, so Michael speaks up again, softer this time. He sounds like he did whenever he used to remind Calum that he loved Calum regardless of the name on Calum’s wrist. He sounds like he is already in love with Ashton—and Calum bets that Michael really is.

“Why do you do this to yourself? Pretend like you can’t have exactly what you want? Because you _can_ have that.”

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” challenges Michael.

Still, Ashton refuses to look at him, but that doesn’t deter Michael. It is never that easy with Michael when he gets something in his mind. Ashton’s hands stop trembling so much in his lap, and Calum knows that Ashton is as easy for protective-Michael as Calum himself is. Michael is in his zone. Ashton isn’t going to win this, especially since he folds even more whenever Michael speaks up again.

“You’re so lovesick over Luke that you won’t admit it to yourself that you love Calum as well.”

“And you,” says Ashton, finally looking up to meet Michael’s eyes. There is a fiery determination in his gaze. It is reminiscent of the glint in Ashton’s eyes at the concert whenever he had met Michael for the first time and discovered that his own soulmate already belonged to somebody else. “Don’t you ever sell yourself short, all right? I’m just freaking out because—because—”

“It’s everything you’ve ever wanted but nothing you thought you’d ever get?” asks Calum, because he thinks he understands. It is difficult being in love with somebody but not having their mark. It fosters all types of fantasies that one doesn’t dare voice to anybody else—that maybe, just maybe, he could have everything he wants: the man he loves and the man whose name is on his skin.  Calum learned to hate the name _Luke_ because it wasn’t _Michael_ , so it is scary now faced with the reality that he can have both. That maybe everybody here wants both, too.

“I don’t want anybody to get hurt,” says Ashton. “Nobody else seems willing to even consider the fact that we don’t have to settle—that we have a choice, and that makes it even scarier, because what if we choose wrong? What if we’re better off separate? Like, me and Luke. And you and Michael?”

“We can’t just pick and choose who your soulmates are,” says Calum, repeating Ashley’s wisdom from earlier. He thinks Ashley must have told Ashton that, too, because his gaze snaps to Calum’s, and a small smile threatens to tug at the corner of his lips. 

“We’re all soulmates,” adds Luke. “All of us. We’ve got each other’s marks. We’re not going to hurt each other.”

But they will, of course. Just tiny things. Fights and arguments and hurt feelings. Things that come with the territory of being in a real, meaningful relationship as adults. Even soulmates aren’t immune to that. But the thing about soulmates is that they won’t break, because even the horror stories that haunt everybody’s worst nightmares are few and far in between in reality.

Right now, the four of them have a promise of forever—and that is all Calum has ever wanted with Michael. All that Ashton has ever wanted with Luke. The four of them _together_ have that promise.

“It’s all right to be scared,” says Calum, because it is. “I think we’d be crazy right now if none of us weren’t all a little bit terrified, but I think we’d been even crazier if we don’t take this chance. It’s like—it’s like fate is giving us another chance at this whole soulmate thing. Shouldn’t we take it?”

Ashton breaks then. It is something that has been coming for a little while, probably since Michael told him it was all right to want all of them, but it is official now. It is complete now. The automatic smile on Ashton’s face is a _yes_ , but he says it out loud in the next second anyway. Calum feels like jumping with joy, but what Luke and Michael do, simultaneously like they are operating off the same wave length—and maybe they are as _soulmates_ —is even an even better way of celebrating.

Luke and Michael extend their hands to Ashton, and Ashton meets them halfway almost immediately. The second Ashton’s fingers brush against Michael’s, Calum feels a rush of _forever_ course through his veins. He knows, if he were to look down at his body that the touch-marks are dark now like they should have been all along. They have been confirmed and have settled into the permanence of soulmarks.

Calum knows that they don’t have anything figured out, the four of them. Not really. They don’t know to coexist with one another just yet or how the mechanics are going to work or even what they are going to tell everybody when the inquiries inevitably arise. The questions will come, especially with Calum’s job, and they will have to deal with them then. They will have to look for a new apartment, too. That much is certain, because Michael and Calum’s place is hardly big enough for the two of them, and this apartment isn’t much bigger. There are so many issues they will have to work out between all of them.

But those are tomorrow’s problems. They will figure it out together, someway, somehow.  They are soulmates, the four of them. They all have the marks to prove it.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tigerlily-sunshine.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The tag for this fic on my tumblr is [here](http://tigerlily-sunshine.tumblr.com/tagged/Broken-Love-in-the-First-Degree).


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